Across the Stars
by Eyefantasy
Summary: Two Gundam pilots and a scout are entangled in a war far beyond the reaches of known space, where the brutal Sith Empire wages a war of destruction on an ailing Republic. Can they, and a cabal of rebels, defeat the newly Sith Emperor Darth Malak and end his tyrannical reign, or will Malak claim supremacy and, once and for all, annihilate the Republic?
1. Prologue

**AN** : I rewrote most of it with Gundam characters Wufei and Heero. Will update sometime this week or tomorrow after re-editing. Thanks for sticking with me, reading and reviewing! Most appreciated!

* * *

The atmosphere was tense! No one made a move. A loud silence reigned inside the dojo, that if a sound was heard, no one would have heard it - or even paid it much attention: They couldn't. The silence was deafening and the surrounding students tried, inconceivably, to solve or comprehend what had just happened.

Collectively, with bated breaths, the students feared uttering a sound would break the distinct moment and cause, most horribly, the world to shatter - and it did for some, breaking their own hubris, their misguided confidence in their abilities. It was this bold silence that resounded in the dojo, leaving its residue on the amazed faces of the students. They had just watched a brutal defeat, an effortless display of power from a prodigy gifted in the martial arts, one that came every decade and challenged the world, by turning it on its head, confused and shocked.

In the middle of the dojo, walled by kneeling students in black with white interloop tops and trim, Wufei Chang, former Gundam pilot and prodigious martial artist, towered over his fallen opponent. His hands were to his sides and, unlike the man on the floor, his uniform remained immaculate, free from sweat stains or scuffs. His black hair, as dark as a starless midnight, was severely slicked back into a ponytail that reached past the nape of his neck from his handsome face; his skin was pale yellow; and his dark and penetrating eyes were focused on the man's twitching face.

In a few swift moves he had defeated one of the Wu Kwan's top students. It was an effortless, almost dull win for Wufei. His opponent was predictable, and the way he telegraphed his movements when frustrated created an opening he needed to consummate his victory.

Like an angry bull, Wufei's opponent had barraged him with tenacious strikes, attacks meant to incapacitate on impact. The bull's charges proved futile as Wufei was the troubadour, possessing a brutal beauty in style, moving out of his opponent's reach, slowly wearing him down. His strikes weakened, his form deteriorated, and he began exerting conserved energy to hit the elusive Wufei.

Wufei never wavered, and remained relentlessly focused on his opponent, whose labored breaths alerted him to his decline in strength. Fatigue took hold, and Wufei could see how his opponent's guard was dropping, as if an invisible pressure weighed him down. Sweat drenched him, pooling under his arms, wetting his back, and falling, profusely, from his brow. His opponent was slowly falling apart.

A jab was thrown and another, this time longer and more careless, for it left his opponent open, extending past Wufei's shoulder, and Wufei, eyes flashing, countered in a takedown, wrapping his left arm around the man's right arm, locking under the armpit, then, with his right foot, kicked out his right ankle while simultaneously using his right hand to strike his chest, slamming the man harshly to the wooden floor. The echo of the slam struck the walls and rang like thunder in the students' ears. It was a dreadful sound that produced many involuntary flinches. The man had blacked out on impact, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Wufei stood victorious, though, he felt empty, like a small hollow in a lively tree, there was something missing, and he consciously could not discern the answer. The feeling lurked within him and continued to fester unabated. It crawled slowly into his mind, stifling him, infecting, until it swallowed him. The hole, the empty feeling, invoked a deep sadness that paralyzed him, and he could not find a way to resolve it like he usually did: through direct confrontation - the meeting of fists and bodies, a decoding of one's true nature in the purest and most brutal form. Ever since his _victory_ over Treize, at the climax of the war, without closure, the young man seemed lost, trying to find his way in the world that had needlessly, now, tossed him aside. The world, which had brutalized him deeply, gnawing into his soul with piercing teeth, a relentless assault, brought him to the cusp of obsolesces.

Gundams were no longer needed – he was no longer needed. The world in the last two years had changed so drastically, it overwhelmed the heir to the Long Clan. The wars were gone, and soldiers, so numerous, so broken, were thrown away so callously – and casually - for this new peace. The soldiers were sacrificed for this peace, and their blood was repaid in dismissal.

This thought did not sit well for Wufei. He had finally acknowledged himself as a soldier, shedding ceremonial and physical blood and tears, a warrior's baptism in war. As he sank beneath the heavy water that seemed to push him downward to a bottomless abyss, he was slowly transforming – his ideals, his sense of justice, his integrity that he clung to when he charged to Earth as a righteous freedom fighter – into a sharpen tool for war. He could no longer follow Meilan's justice; he had failed her so. And, in doing so, he had shamed her pride. Meilan's integrity, her justice, relied on a black-and-white outlook, a desperate righteousness that declared those with evil intentions enemies to humankind. Meilan's integrity was only strengthened by the principles of his clan, which he now confronted and questioned, to find his own source of beliefs. The scholar in him yearned desperately, demanding him, to find his answers to justice. Meilan's justice judged OZ and Treize to be evil and cunning entities oppressing the weak. And Wufei had believed it so, he had seen it from ZERO, yet now, long after the war, was he still right? No. The truth had unraveled him and his preconceptions.

Wufei knew when he had confronted Treize, on Libra's surface, he would die. He expected to. Treize had outmaneuvered him, outwitted and outfought him. Wufei knew he could not win but he was committed to fighting Treize fair and square – no beam cannons, Dragon Fangs, or Vulcans – just close quarter combat match to the death. It was a match for a loser, a loser who had lost everything, a loser who could not live in peace. Yet, unmistakably, Treize understood Wufei's defeatism and, whether out of respect or, really, feeling the same way – that without war and conflict his existence ceased – engaged Wufei on the same terms.

Treize, he had thought, was the epitome of evil, a villainous, bloodthirsty warlord, seeking absolute power and war. He was a cunning manipulator who reshaped the world and the Colonies to his will. He made his dastardly ambitions a reality and enacted, with sudden efficiency, the demise of his enemies.

However, as Wufei fought Treize, his perception of reality changed: Treize was a hero seeking peace, a noble who had brought humanity near extinction to show how beautiful and how cruel humans could be. He sacrificed his life to end the war (though he sought peace, the man could not live without his beloved battles, in an era headed towards pacifism) on Relena's gamble of total pacifism. Treize, at his final moments, was a hero and a villain, and his era had come to a close. But: the war did not end for Wufei. He still breathed.

He was forced to live an existence, during this peaceful epoch, as a civilian, gradually warming to peace and finding new opportunities post-war that did not know where and how to place a person like him, who couldn't adjust – and wouldn't. He became a wanderer who held the war inside him, unfulfilled, living in perpetual torment, and could not acquiesce to this growing pacifism. And he was plagued with Treize's spirit, his noble sacrifice at the end of his trident. Wufei could still see Treize's pained face after his final thrust into his cockpit, acquitted in pride and surrender, still hear his final words echo in his ears, -" Thank you, Wufei. My eternal friend." - still feel the magnitude of his thrust and the hot tears of his shame and sorrow and shock that followed stream down his face.

Wufei snorted inwardly, dissatisfied with his current train of thought. Everything, his turmoil, revolved and returned back to Treize. They were inseparable, irrevocable, a chain that bonded their fate when OZ attacked his home colony and killed his wife. He was still fighting Treize, the OZ leader, whose aplomb smile followed him, forever haunting him like a beastly phantom. The heavens (or hell) for whatever reason, bonded Treize to him, his restless spirit still roaming about, looking for a new crusade.

Wufei's face remained a mask, an impassive wall, and his dark eyes, normally alive during the intense moment, were dim. Challenges were hard to come by, and a victory such as this, did not give him the fulfillment he desired. It was pyrrhic. None of the matches so far or his work in defeating men with evil aspirations, after Treize's death, gave him any form of accomplishment. They just fed the growing emptiness inside him.

He took this win as yet another empty trophy he did not need, as it did not fill the void of the Eve's War. It certainly did not bring him any comfort. He felt pathetic – to defeat this person so easily, was this all what the war had promised him? - A life of banality without heated confrontations or desires of his skills? Was this what Nataku wanted for him?

He would not accept it! His blood boiled for a warrior's battle. He deserved it! He had put so much into the war and had come away with absolutely nothing. Was this what peace had amounted to? A desolate hopelessness…?

He stared at his defeated opponent, watching the man heave himself up, though slightly disoriented from the takedown. He groaned, rubbing his buzzed head. When righted the man gave a short bow and Wufei responded back accordingly, bending smoothly at the waist.

"Winner: Wufei!" declared Shifu Li, raising his arm in Wufei's direction. The two combatants proceeded to bow to the man and took their place in the line; Wufei, to the right side, and his opponent to the left. Wufei kneeled, his eyes set on the next match, hearing the students around him squirm and shudder in fear. They were weaklings, all of them. They let fear rule in place of courage, which would, inevitably, for fear invites irrationality, and decays hope, weaken their resolve. A weak resolve could never surmount any challenges thrusted upon an individual. Experience had been a wise and brutal teacher for Wufei.

When the matches ended, the students formed three rows with Wufei at the top left. Shifu Li, his head as bald and shiny as the polished wooden floors, gleaming from the flooding light of the ceiling, stood across from them, deep brown eyes measuring them, studying them. His eyes roamed across the students until they landed on Wufei, peering at him not in superiority; no, this man never saw himself stronger than his students. He was a teacher retaining knowledge of the old ways on this colony, which was what attracted Wufei to his school – and he had also apprenticed under Shifu Long. He had learned they had had a long history together. Shifu Li had left Colony A0206 during OZ's space conquest, after the reopening of communications between the colonies. He ponderously watched Wufei for a moment that seemed to transform into hours, a torturous and revealing look, that knew of his hardships he had faced for the colonies, and all that he had lost. He too, as a former resident of his home colony had lost loved ones.

His steady gaze did not belie pity – it would have been an indignity to his pride as a fighter if it did. Indeed, the pride of a fighter, a warrior-turned soldier, was all that Wufei could cling to, when his sense of integrity fell short of the standard measured by his dead clan and Shifu Li.

Wufei stared back, watching the master's mouth thin, his wrinkles ostensibly deep like trenches on his old face. Shifu Li nodded subtly as if to convey he had done enough. Wufei subtly narrowed his eyes in return. Anger struck him. He curled his hands into fists. No, thought Wufei, he wasn't finished yet.

Shifu Li's eyes drifted back to the rest of the students. He promptly dismissed the class. Without muddling around, Wufei left before anyone could spare a vapid conversation. He needed air. Too many thoughts warred inside him, and he felt that he could not contain them anymore before they broke free from the confines of his mind. His restraint, these days, became more taxing.

Outside the doors, a light blue sky exploded over the colony, the air crisp to simulate fall. The artificial sky, today, was cloudless, and it seemed to anger Wufei as it contrasted with the feelings brimming in his soul. He exhaled deeply the manifesting feelings in one breath, a meditative technique he had been using too much as of late. His body relaxed. He looked out into the colony, seeing the city from the rolling green hills in front of him – the skyscrapers and storied-buildings congregated together for the sole purpose of human survival – a symbol of a thriving population untouched by the war. The colony was silent and calm. Everything was silent and calm, holding a tranquility that he, bitterly, desired.

He walked from the dojo, brown eyes drifting over the autumn colored-leaves that canopied above on the sidewalk - the vibrant oranges, startling reds, browning yellows, and a minutia of green which clung to the stems of their branches - waiting for that harsh wind - which would never come - to push them onto the ground, like meteorites burning in Earth's atmosphere, crumpling into dust and then nothingness.

The seasons changed, the winds changed, the colors changed, but _he_ remained the same. He was still stuck in the war, its claws sunk in his flesh, ripping, and he bore the scars, invisible, that haunted him. Seasons' rebirth, but lives do not. His family, his wife, his righteous clan, they were gone forever, and those memories burned in him fiercely like Nataku's infernos - but he forcibly put it to the back of his mind; he could not get emotional, he was stronger than this. Or so he thought, when he reflected on his failures and doubts.

Wufei made his way into the city, entering a four-storied apartment complex. Walking up the stairs, he came to the third floor, and walked to the first door on the left, to an apartment facing the city and opened the door with his keys. He closed the door, looking into the small furnishings of his apartment - a small circular table surrounded by three wooden chairs, and a television in the right corner, sitting on a stand, a small kitchen – an empty house barren of novelties and luxuries except a laptop. The laptop sat on the table, the screen on but in sleep mode. He had bought the apartment shortly after the war, where he disappeared until the threat of the remnants of the White Fang, doing miscellaneous jobs. He had enough money to survive for a few years. He had survived, quite conveniently, over the last two years on the Long clan accounts. He had acquired, to his surprise, all remaining monies and properties (all physical properties were obliterated) of the clan before they were destroyed.

He set his gym bag by the door and walked to the cabinet. He took out a glass and filled it with water and took a deep drink. Relief flooded him as the cold water splashed against the back of his throat. His simmering anger and frustration lessened at each gulp.

A beeping noise drew his attention to the laptop.

He turned the screen on, setting his glass on the table, and wasn't surprised that he had messages via the Gundam Circuit. He had been ignoring the system, preferring to be alone and independent. He preferred solitude than close comradery. It was better that way; it was how he operated. He was never one for personal relationships, not after Meilan's death, and developing such interpersonal relationships was unnecessary: he found clarity in solitude, certainty in his own resolve to discern the concealed and entangled, and act, as ruthlessly as possible, to bring them to the light of justice, and extinguish all opposition.

Surrendering to the temptation, he accessed the Gundam Circuit and, bewildered, found messages from Heero Yuy. Heero had rarely reached out to him, his privacy comparable to his, unless for emergencies that required his presence. He had left him two messages. He perused the messages. His eyebrows rose and he leaned forward as the laptop screen reflected blue in his eyes.

Heero had left him detailed messages on traversing a wormhole. According to the messages, Howard and Heero had been testing the new limits of outer space travel for spaceships, and wondered if he wanted join in on their expedition. Howard had been monitoring this occurrence for a while, and sent a probe through the wormhole. It came back with positive pictures of another planet and, to his amazement, proof of extraterrestrials through passing ships in the region. There was no guarantee of coming back, so extreme discretion was advised.

Wufei felt something stirring within him, rising and swelling, a great emotion; was it anticipation? excitement? _Yes_ , he thought, this was something he could do, instead of living a monotonous life. He sent his approval to Heero, whom confirmed right away. He would pick him up and then they would depart to the outer limits of the L-5 region. The idea was intriguing, and he was pleasantly surprised he did not have any reservations, this time, on meeting and accepting such a journey. He would not be missed. He did not have anyone left, after all.

Wufei smirked. _This should be fun_ , he thought, attracted by this new goal. Maybe time was about to move its hands forward.

A new trial had begun.

* * *

He arrived at the spaceport earlier than the allotted time, duffle bag in hand, and walked to Hangar 8, where Heero was said to be waiting. Heero was a very punctual man; he disliked unnecessary tardiness. Wufei was sure if he was late, Heero would have left without him, feeling no remorse or guilt. The mission always came first in his eyes, except for that one girl. He would _damn_ the missions for her.

He showed his identification to security personnel and entered the bay doors to the holding room, changed into his green spacesuit, and carried his helmet under his right arm. The conditions in the hangar were oxygenated but gravity, on the other hand, was reduced. He exited, the doors closing and locking into Hangar 8, a cavernous hangar filled with three civilian shuttles. There were people in queue on several platforms, waiting for entry for the two shuttles further down on his right. Above him, in the air, technicians whizzed by in a constant state of assiduous to their designated duties, their bodies propelled by small gushes from their pressurized packs, as they prepped the shuttles for launch.

Wufei jumped towards a large red space shuttle, its design sleek and resplendent, on his left. The shuttle had curved delta wings and was about 110 feet in length. At the propulsion engines, a young man wearing a green spacesuit motioned to him. Wufei descended, his pressurized gushes lowering him to the craft.

Heero Yuy had grown taller, Wufei observed, now standing six feet like him. His mop of unruly brown hair that always looked untamable, wild, like his persona, streamed down his face, his bangs kissing his nose and cheeks, and his blue eyes were as piercing and glaring as they were two years ago on his pale skin. They were sharp and stunning and brooding, like the waters of the ocean darkened by stormy clouds, holding a cool calculation. His face had matured, thinning and sharply triangular. He had grown very attractive. Wufei doubted looks ever mattered to Heero – there were always more important matters that took forefront to their lives, like staying alive long enough for the next mission. Heero's aloofness and guarded personality seemed to deter any sense of comradery – to those of the normal type of people anyways.

"Preparations are almost set. I need to take care of a few things," his deep voice cut his reverie. With that Heero took off, gliding to one of the technicians monitoring their vessel. Wufei walked to the flight deck, and entered the door.

He found himself a seat on the right of the pilot seat and placed his helmet in the empty space under the console. He made his way to the door behind the seats, and entered a white lit corridor which took him to their shared quarters – two hammocks parallel to each other, and two lockers. He inserted his bag into the only available locker. He returned to the flight deck and saw Heero, seated, prepping the ship for launch. He gave Wufei a glance then returned to work.

Wufei took to his seat, clipped his seatbelt, and readied himself. Heero flipped the radio switch. "Preparation: Done. Flight control, The Frontier is ready to depart," his deep voice said to the radio, looking at the time. It read: 0600.

"Flight control reads The Frontier. Area is clear, you're good for takeoff. Safe voyage."

"Roger that, flight control." Heero turned off the radio and powered the engines.

The engine jolted the ship, roaring like dragons at war. The vibrations were strong and the shuttle trembled under its power. The bay three doors opened and Heero guided the shuttle through the first door. The second door opened, revealing space. Gravity brought the ship to a float, and yellow guiding lanes shot out in from of them. The ship moved through colony and finally exited the colony to an ocean full of stars that glittered like stardust, in the expanse of space. The sight made Wufei all the more appreciative of his origins as a spacenoid. Space had never looked so free and mysterious and wild and even more treacherous: the dangers were great if one sought the mysteries that lay afar; and the pilots were set to measure how far the universe stretched on their expedition.

"So, why did you come?" Heero said suddenly, after hours of silence. His cold blue eyes were on his form, measuring and searching all in his silent disposition. He spoke with a frankness that left no room for ambiguity. If he wasn't talking, or refused to, Heero would greet one with an uncomfortable silence and a piercing stare. "You've been pretty quiet these last few years…"

Wufei knew this question was coming, and he was still unsure of his answer. "I wanted go beyond this realm, and I feel something drawing me to do this, like a meteor pulled to Earth's gravity. Perhaps a compulsion," and _to find the true meaning of justice and peace in this universe_ , he left unsaid.

Wufei was surprised at his own candor. He didn't think he would admit to Heero pieces of confusion that weighed heavily on his mind. Did he trust Heero that much as a close confidant? No, Wufei realized, but he did feel vulnerable under his gaze, and that made Wufei angrier at himself. Weakness of self could not be tolerated.

"Change the stagnation," said Heero, his eyes still boring unflinchingly at Wufei.

Wufei smirked. Heero had an uncanny ability of intuition and perception too, though, Wufei's was more developed - he could see patterns and tactics ahead of his opponents. However, Wufei did wonder how much the ZERO System had affected Heero's cognitive skills. The ZERO System was an interface in the cockpit that gave the pilot efficient and calculated battle data and large amount of statistics to insure, tactically, absolute victory or total defeat. It was up to the pilot to guide the raw data to the correct path for future outcomes and predictions.

However, the intense strain on the pilot's mind had devastating side effects. The negative side effects included insanity from the stress of the raw and unfiltered data transmitted from the system to the pilot, strong hallucinations, and mind-altering consciousness that warped the mind even after turning off the system. If a pilot was strong enough in will and had the fortitude to "tame" the system, they would be granted greater spatial awareness and eidetic memory. Wufei may have been able to tame the system, but Heero had endured it more and forced it to his will.

"This epoch of peace brings nothing to me. We, as soldiers, are no longer needed here, and the peace, galvanized by Relena Peacecraft, has left its beneficiaries arrogantly complacent. I'm left uneasy" – and _Empty_ , he thought with disdain – "of our role in the world," said Wufei, folding his arms.

"You're not alone in that type of thinking." Heero returned his view to space. "However, our roles as Gundam pilots have come to an end. Humanity is on a new path. We have to believe in the people, and their hearts."

Wufei turned to Heero, scowling. "Their _hearts_? Those that pursue power will want more power. Their hearts can't be swayed, for evil reeks in them. Evil never dies, Heero. Evil cannot be persuaded, only permanently silenced."

" _Our_ battles have ended, Wufei," Heero said, a touch of exasperation in his tone.

"No. No… not yet. Mine hasn't ended yet," Wufei confessed, now a little agitated, his fingers digging into his biceps. He knew for sure his hadn't; he was convinced, for Treize remained a constant in his thoughts.

"Wufei…"

"I find it quite strange," Wufei said abruptly. He looked curiously at Heero. There was something bugging him, and he could not deny curiosity to this thought.

"Hm?" Heero replied, giving a cool eye at him, though his face remained blank to the sudden change in conversation. Heero was not a fooled and his eyes said as much.

"That girl you were so desperate to save back in the war, you know you're leaving her behind," said Wufei.

Heero was silent for a long time, and Wufei wasn't sure if he would answer – it was a very personal question to him. Heero was never forthcoming with his past. In his presence, Wufei had never heard anything personal. Wufei was the same way. The Gundam pilots had always kept their pasts and feeling to themselves, except when their actions, apparent in the heat of conflict, revealed their true selves. Quatre Raberba Winner was an exception. He wore his openness and kindheartedness on his sleeve.

"Relena's fine without me," Heero stated, finally. His face took on a faraway look as if he was no longer there in his seat. The present disappeared from his eyes. "She's been… she's come a long way. She'll understand."

"It's a one-way-trip, you might not see her again," Wufei remarked, frowning. He doubted she would understand. Relena was very much in love with him, he knew for certain. He had seen it in her blue eyes that overflowed admiration and trust, something he had seen from Meilan, only, in her final moments.

"Her feelings have changed; we both know it. She has her own life to live and I have mine. I left her a letter..." Heero said, airily, a small smile pulling at the edge of his lips of a hidden secret he wouldn't divulge. He suddenly turned to Wufei his blue eyes now firm.

"And also: I want to see what's beyond this galaxy. ZERO has confirmed this – vaguely – as my next step in life."

"ZERO?" Wufei furrowed his brow, leaning a bit closer. Now he was truly intrigued.

Heero nodded, and his blue eyes seemed lighter, relieved. "Yes. ZERO told me there was a greater future for me, and it lay beyond the Earth… and Relena. I wanted to see it for myself. It was the only path showed to me."

Heero became silent and the two, amid the burning stars and the loud silence, drifted into contemplation.

A few days later, they were in range of the wormhole, a cosmic distortion in space. The mouth, a vortex, that seemed to bend space-and-time and the stars into infinite white streaks, was larger than their ship, and it seemed to go a mile high. Wufei's heart hammered in his chest. This was it! It was now or never. Heero nodded to Wufei and he returned the gesture. They both buckled their seatbelts and dove into the vortex.

In an instant, the ship dashed through the passage becoming a red blur. Abruptly, and without warning, Wufei was slammed against the back of his chair. The G-forces were tremendous. He could barely move his head as the pressure felt like a wall squeezing the life out of him. He turned an onyx eye on Heero to see how he was fairing. Heero's blue eyes were wide and the jaws of mouth were clenched so hard Wufei could the grinding of his teeth. Wufei managed to turn eyes onto the window.

Outside, an iridescence of colors blended together, spiraling around them. Streaks of luminous colors rushed around them in brilliant radiance, the light bending in arcs, reflecting off of their vessel. The light was alive, and it arced and twirled around the ship, intertwining in orchestration. Rivers of reds, yellows, blues, oranges, greens, violets, loudly, streamed in the vortex.

The sight was spellbindingly elegant. Wufei had never seen such a spectacular display. If he could, he would have gaped in awe. Instead his face remained stricken.

As quickly as it started they were ejected from the passage, the stars returning to their natural state: pinning and glittering against the black canvas of space. The wormhole closed behind them, unbeknownst to the two pilots who released a loud sigh of relief, after being nearly thrown from their seats. Their safety belts saved them as they groaned against the seat, the fabric digging into Wufei's shoulders.

* * *

Heero looked out into space, into the array of unknown stars and to the glowing miniscule sapphire planet ahead of them. The pressure from the rush lessened and he was able to freely move in his chair. He hadn't expected they would pick up such speed, but it was mere inconvenience – the ship had survived its voyage. He did a quick diagnostic and all functions were optimal. He cracked his neck, feeling the tightness loosen.

"Is this the planet?" said Wufei, his tone curious. There was also an undertone of wonder.

"Yeah. We're on target," Heero confirmed. "Let's move closer."

Heero eased the red ship closer and closer to the turquoise orb. Something buzzed at Heero's senses. It was like a fly buzzing only in earshot – one knew it was there because the beating of its wings vibrated one's eardrums. He narrowed his eyes, seeing the outline of ships and transient yellow light from the flight deck window.

Wufei, too, noted something strange. "Do you think it's…" he trailed off.

Heero picked up on the implicit meaning. "Yeah," he said slowly, carefully, "it is a battle!"

Outside the flight deck window, the turquoise planet was now apparent and vividly clear. Large and vast oceans surrounded a large, glimmering continent. The planet's surface teemed and stretched towards capacity of its landmass, of cities overlapping each other in a fight of dominance; a metropolis so distinct that nothing else besides the cities – deserts, grasslands, arid – could be seen. It sparkled like an inviting jewel from afar.

But, presently, the most concerning matter was the battle that raged above, obstructing their passage to the planet. Fierce and electrifying, beams of green and red soared across space – and at each other - as space fighters lit the darkness up in explosions, the yellow and red balls of fire flashing in transience.

An overwhelming force of black starfighters shaped like stubby carriages with two long aerodynamic wings that opened, revealing two laser cannons at the tips of both wings, attacked a large (and badly damaged) hammer-headed battleship. The fighters were of a design the Gundam pilots' had never seen before, compared to their own mobile suit technology – they were sleek and agile, and they zoomed dynamically, evading enemy fire, and, in unison, devouring their enemies. The battleship's own gray-and orange-colored fighters tried, though outnumbered, to valiantly fight fend off this indomitable force… but it was useless: the ship was already sinking into the atmosphere, its three out of four engines dimming and exploding in a hail of fire and blue sparks.

 _The ship doesn't have a chance_ , Heero thought tragically, as it started to capsize and descend, falling into the atmosphere of the glowing planet below. The planet's gravity pulled the sinking ship relentlessly, and it could no longer put up a fight against it. They were close now and Heero, his blue eyes gleaming in urgency, watched helplessly as the space battle unfolded. An air of desperation arose from the orange-and white-fighters – what was left of them – and the black fighters could smell it, preyed upon it, cutting off their retreats paths and showering them with red beams.

"Does this ship not have any weapons?" Wufei said sharply, finding nothing in the operating system, as he continued searching the databanks. His dexterous fingers typed fiercely, ceasing only to read some operating specs then his lips transformed into a snarl of disdain.

"No," Heero declared bluntly, shaking his head, "Howard and I never thought to integrate any weapons to the ship. We didn't think we'd encounter any hostility." _Our shortsightedness could get us killed!_ Heero thought angrily.

Wufei snorted in derision but said nothing. Heero was grateful for that; he didn't really need any of Wufei's condescending remarks. Wufei was never subtle in declaring his opinion, especially if it countered his own, and he carried a certain dogma when expressing his opinion, an assured righteousness and declaration of his morality that was as hard as stone. Logic, at times, couldn't override his obstinacy. Heero had found convincing Wufei difficult, for persuading Wufei was as challenging as taming lightning, for lightning, as ferocious as it was, was also unpredictable.

The thundering battle became chaotic as the black fighters, like a flock of vultures, descended upon the dying vessel, spraying deadly beam weaponry across the ship's starboard, leaving no metal unblemished. Melted detritus broke off, orbiting the ship, hot and golden. The ship turned, achingly slow, on its port, trying and failing to maintain stability in the atmosphere. Smoke billowed uncontrollably out of its wounds, and fire danced beside it, blistering, twisting, and melting metal.

Heero watched its portside eject escape pods. They burned through the atmosphere nearly unchallenged. However, as the escape pods entered the atmosphere, a black fighter appeared under the capsized ship, its beams hounding the escaping vessels. Tragically, a red beam crashed into a pod and seared its way into the passengers, incinerating flesh and metal. The resulting explosion sent scattered and flaming fragments at the nearest pod on its left. The fragments scraped and shredded the unsuspecting pod, leaving wounds that flared with fire. The pod fell into the planet, twirling uncontrollably, as gravity's invisible hand cruelly slammed it down. The chance of survival was minuscule at best. Two more pods, amid the torrent of red beams, descended to the planet below, finally, fleeing their attacker.

Heero recoiled from the deaths of the passengers inside the pods. He had never felt something so visceral in a brief moment, like cold water dousing him, chilling him to the bone. The brutal extinguishing of their lives left an empty but temporary hole inside him. He could not discern the feeling, but his awareness heightened at that incident, like he was inside the ZERO system. He looked to his right. Wufei looked unsettled, his dark eyes gazing at the remains streaming through the firmament. He then glowered, a burning rage swelling in his onyx eyes.

"They're attacking escape pods?!" Wufei growled. "What cowards!"

Another alarm blared, and Heero, recognizing they were targeted by multiple incoming vessels, opened the radio channel. "Calling all fighters, this is a civilian vessel. We are _not_ part of the battle."

He repeated. Still, silence reverberated on the other end until a volley of red beams shot at them!

"So this is the enemy?!" Wufei called over the frequent shaking of the ship, his expression dark. "They did not even confirm our I.F.F.! I guess our taking notice has left them uneasy."

"To silence us, they'll want to destroy all evidence," Heero said calmly. "We'll have to make them work for it." His eyes swept to Wufei, and he understood, giving a knowing smirk. Heero grasped the controls and steered the ship through the hail of red lights.

Heero plunged the ship down, avoiding angry red beams. He guided the ship expertly, weaving through tumultuous hellfire. Two black fighters appeared behind them, firing at them point blank. The ship accelerated upward, dodging more beams, and barrel-rolled downward in-between the two, passing them. Then, with a greater distance between their opponents, the shuttle barreled-rolled over, as red light ran parallel to its port. Heero led two of the fighters in a game of cat and mouse, the black fighters trailing after the elusive ship that seemed to predict their movement. Heero had had enough and the chase reached its climatic end, when, unknowingly, their adversaries crashed into each other, as the ship ducked, with just enough time, between the two fighters.

The claxons sounded again. Heero noted more approaching ships on the radar. "More targets approaching," Heero reported.

Wufei narrowed his dark eyes. "Don't waver."

"I wasn't planning to," Heero replied.

Heero was forced to dodge several more beams as more opponents locked-on to their ship.

"They have to be coming from a source," Heero said, his face tightening in concentration. "There mothership should be somewhere in the vicinity."

Heero's gaze wandered space, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Where are you coming from," he murmured. A feeling of unbelievably dark in its nature encompassed him, threatening to vomit the contents of his stomach. He shivered, but felt not cold touch his skin, only his senses. It was like being in Antarctica again, the blistering wind and frigid temperatures ravaging his skin, and sinking to the bone. He regained himself, but….

 _What was that?_

The darkness had a murderous intent to it, and clawed out, looking, drastically, for something; something that held power. It was vicious, seeking to rape and molest all purity from the world. And it fed hungrily – eating all fear and hatred of the combatants. The being was revolting, and it was to his far right.

There, floating and watching stealthily, against backdrop of the planet, and the stars bearing witness, hovered one of the largest ships Heero had ever seen. The silver ship, about 600 meters long, featured a split hull, one dorsal and one ventral. In shape, the ship reminded Heero of a sleek crab claw, ready to grab and crush all prey.

The ship powered by three main engines and four auxiliary engines waited in the darkness of space; its weaponry – twenty quad laser cannons, four turbolaser cannons, two ion cannons glittering along its surface – were aimed at the hammer-head vessel. Heero somehow knew that this enigmatic ship was the cause of this battle. He felt it in his very being.

"We need to find some way of escaping," said Heero, taking cautious glances at the ominous large ship. The ship, intimidatingly, like a judge foreseeing an execution, remained beside the planet.

"Can we travel back through the wormhole?" asked Wufei.

"We could if we can get away, but they're blocking our escape routes."

They were doing more than that. The enemy ships were trying to lure them to their mothership. Whenever he would charge, say, left, they were there, flanked by supporting ships – this time more coordinated in their offensives.

Heero shook his head. They needed time, but the more time he spent piloting the less fuel they had. There was no way that they could keep up this pace. And needless to say replacing fuel tanks took time, and relied, greatly, for the ship to be inactive. This put the pilots at a breaking point: should they land on the new planet or get a greater distance from the battle? And could they escape, with the massive and eyeing ship that lurked above the planet?

The ship lurched, and Heero knew they took a hit. A screen on one of the monitors displaying a digital diagram of the ship showed damage to the left elevon. A decision had to be made on their next course of action. Their lives depended on it.

"We need to land on the planet and find a proper spaceport for refueling and repairs," Heero decided.

"Is that the only option? Couldn't we avoid them by distancing ourselves? We can outrun them," Wufei argued. "I know your skills can do this."

"I've been trying to do that, yet each move we've made, they countered," Heero replied, noticing more black ships joining in the fanfare for their death, hot on their tail. He gave another look at the hammer-headed ship and narrowed his eyes. It wouldn't be long till the ship exploded and the enemy ships turn their attention on them. They would be hopelessly outnumbered. Death would come quickly.

"Fine!" exclaimed Wufei, "Just make sure you avoid more incoming fire."

Heero glided the ship through the volley of red energy, barreling and diving at insane speeds to the shining planet below. As the pilots soared closer to the dying hammer-head vessel, another escape pod ejected, plunging into the city. And not a second later, the vessel detonated in a shower of fire-filled debris and smoke, like a monumental firework in the nighttime sky. A lone remnant crashed into their ship, grazing the left delta wing.

Heero directed the ship in the trajectory of the lone escape pod while funneling smoke, its wounds sparking. The pilots, already strapped in their seats, braced themselves for the rough landing. Heero gripped the controls tightly, trying to maintain stability for their landing. The ship shook from the raging turbulence, and its wounds made its balance a struggle to maintain. The steering wheel juddered from under his hands; he gripped tighter.

Passing the fleshy white cumulus clouds, they neared planet's surface, the rows of towering spires like palisades of an enemy fortress, shining like liquid gold from the sunset, closed in on them. Heero could see a platform from below as they accelerated. The planet's citizens that were just mere faceless dots moments ago became faces of terror as they fled from the impending ship, howling through sky.

The ship crashed into a platform violently, sliding across the streets, screeching from the friction. The airbags immediately popped from the dashboards, slamming into the pilots, knocking all sense from Heero. The ship roared its way through monuments, shattering stone and metal. The vibration was tremendous and the windows cracked from stray fragments smashing into them. Finally, the ship stopped, on its back, through a gushing fountain. The pilots, unconscious, remained motionless, seemingly dead to the world. As Heero drifted in and out of consciousness, a loud squeak of grinding metal caused his ears to twitch. Then, rough hands grabbed him, yanking him out of his chair, and before Heero fell back into darkness, a voice yelled, "Hurry! We need to get them to Forn's!"

* * *

Second Chapter is on its way (again).


	2. Taris: Act I

AN: A revised Chapter 2 is done.

* * *

A woman tossed and turned on her bed, her face a mixture of pain and anguish. Her head squirmed on the hard pillow. Her hands roughly grabbed the sheets of her bed, twisting and turning and yanking as if the action could alieve the coming terror – but it was already there. Her eyes were clenched shut and small and short sounds grunted out of her mouth. Beads of sweat glistened on her dark brown brow and rolled, like a stream, down her sharp cheek bones, past her long smooth neck, down into the valley of her breasts, and gathered and drenched her bra.

The woman's body was covered in sweat, the sheets moist under her, soaked. She gave another grunt, her lips open. Another sharp shudder shot from her mouth. A rapturous torment inexplicably pulled at her conscious and acted as a barrier between the real world and her dream world.

The woman was dreaming and when she usually dreamed, her dreams were not normal. Indeed her dreams were visions of nightmares and countless deaths. Of familiar people she had met but she could not recall. Of familiar worlds she had visited but could not explain why she was there. Of familiar lovers in the acts of intimacy but their faces shadowed and the love intangible, hollow.

Sometimes she was a spectator in her dreams, watching worlds burn… or, she was the madness that sentenced countless men and women to their deaths, soaking in their sacrifice and blood. The dreams, at times, were sporadic, splitting into multiple segments with no correlation. When they happened, she lost all control of her senses and the world faded to black. That was the start and finish of her dreams: the encompassing darkness. The dreams were relentless, and they were not so easily broken.

Wisps of darkness moved like shadows and edged at the corners of her mind, patient and percolating. In the deep recesses of her conscious, the darkness embraced her once again, finally striking, and swallowed her completely. She waited for the imminent dream sequence to begin.

 _The darkness ebbed away like fog dispersing in the morning. The woman found herself on a bridge of a ship. Monitors flickered and blinked intermittently in the darkness of the bridge. Ship operators in blue and black uniforms had their heads turned, their mouths agape in fear and terror, as they watched something from a distance. She heard several low hums like a small hyperdrive echoing on the bridge. The woman's brown eyes looked to the left._

 _Two foes faced each other in silence, sizing and calculating each other's weak points. Only the sound of their lightsabers hummed in the loud silence. Facing away from the panoramic bay windows, a man with eyes as yellow as a serpent leered at his female opponent. Pure unadulterated anger saturated his eyes. They burned fiercely. He wore a black cowl that hid his hair and draped his light, armored-covered chest. A black mask covered his nose and mouth. His covered nostrils flared like a predator ready to attack._

 _The man's stance deepened and his heavy black boots pounded the metal floor in intimidation, like the beginning of war drums. His lightsaber, darker than a laigrek's red eye, sang the song of death. The man's black gloves clenched his hilt, a curved and cruel ebony weapon, as he slowly swayed the saber from left to right, the red light reflecting on his harsh features – pale, cracked and ashen skin, blue veins running across his forehead, bulging in rage. The dark side clung to him like dark shadows, molding and twisting him into death incarnate. The red light made him more menacing and fearsome. Any vestiges of humanity, before his corruption, were vacant and empty, desolate. Only hatred remained, and it poisoned and decayed his flesh._

 _However, his opponent was the opposite. She was stunningly beautiful, almost angelic. If he was the spawn of darkness then she was his mortal enemy, the radiant and benevolent light. Her brown bangs fell into the sides of her face. The other half was pulled into two tight ponytails but wisps and strands of hair were strewn out of place. A golden light shined on her rosy features, making her seem ethereal, divine; a divinity born from altruism – the essence of the Jedi Order. Her normally bluish-gray eyes were gray and hard, piercing, and stronger than duracrete steel._

 _Serenity glowed in her eyes and morphed into pure determination. She would not be defeated. Her pastel pink, full lips opened and her teeth bore in defiance. From her neck downwards she wore a tight and flexible orange body suit. A light brown tabard acted as armor decorating her shoulders and flowed down, past the swell of her breasts, past her sash, to her front and back of her boot-covered shins._

 _She held her shimmering golden lightsaber in front of her; the light emitted from the saber reflected off her brown arm braces and clothing like fire. She exhaled deeply, her eyes drinking in all of the Sith's form. The two glared at each other, one in hatred and passion and the other in calm and resolution. A bright light from an exploding fighter glared obstinately from the viewport of the bridge, where a dark figure gazed at a perpendicular Interdictor-class cruiser, oblivious to the battle before it. The light, briefly, enveloped and fell on their bodies before leaving the bridge in shadows, the dim lighting from the ceiling and monitors, and the stars bearing witness._

 _As if that was the call to battle, the Sith jumped forward, bringing his red saber overhead. The crimson saber cut the air and fell into nothing but floor, melting and burning thick durasteel. The woman had elegantly evaded the strike, her body spinning out of the way. Using her body's momentum from the evasion her saber came for the man's neck. He ducked the blow as her saber swung horizontally. His right gloved hand rose to her chest._

 _Stormy eyes widened and then narrowed as the woman brought her arms to guard. Kinetic energy burst from his hand and sent her flying. She skidded across the floor, her legs bracing and resisting the current of energy as if she was an immovable force trapped in the thick of a hurricane gust. The man blurred into existence, his speed inhuman, as his saber struck the woman. But she met him with her own resistance. The woman blocked each strike with equal fervor, and followed up with her own aggressive retaliation._

 _The blades in a whirling of dance and sparks connected and parried. The covered-man seethed in anger, his attempts to kill the Jedi faltering. The red saber swung diagonally like a wild rancor. And the woman's face remained calm as she met him and broke his guard with an elbow to his face. He staggered back as a trickle of blood dripped on his chest from his right temple._

 _He growled at being repelled by her strong defense. A sudden kick to the solar plexus caught him off-guard, and he landed roughly on his back, the metal floor thudding at the impact. The woman's furious assault ended as she stared down at him, her eyes declaring that he was beneath her, her saber pointed at his neck. The man gave another low growl._

 _"Jedi schutta," he growled lowly, brushing her saber away and standing once more. "I won't be defeated by -!"_

 _Before he even had a chance to attack, the woman was on him. She swung relentlessly, her power growing stronger with each pounding strike. Fear replaced anger. The man stumbled backwards from each violent and swift swing from the brown-haired Jedi._

 _His breathing shortened becoming ragged and erratic as he tried to summon more energy. He would not be denied of this match, of killing this woman before his master. The woman's overhead was blocked by his ruby saber. She forcibly pushed down her saber, her arms tight, and her mouth clenched in concentration. The man's arms refused to waiver, and the sabers glowed white at the intersecting points._

 _The two opponents amongst the clashing sounds of their lightsabers refused to relent._

 _But... someone had to fall._

 _He leapt back for some breathing room, but his saber clashed once again with the woman's. The woman fell into a relentless barrage of diagonal swings, her opponent defensively trailing backwards, her ferocity building, fueling each consecutive strike. The man tried an overhead swing, but was too slow. The woman broke into his guard and, in a flash of yellow, and the sound of flesh burning, a guttural roar of agony piercing the air, from his left hip to his right shoulder, the saber sliced into his skin. The man crumpled to the floor dead. As for the Jedi, she paid no heed to the corpse but to the shadowy figure at the end of the bridge._

 _The interloper turned her brown eyes to the end of the bridge but jumped when something touched her shoulder, like a brush of a hand. She turned quickly, finding only darkness and laughter; a distorted laughter echoing around her. It was chilling, and she shivered. She was about to speak, but found her voice silent as the laughter continued unabated, its volume rising, then, suddenly, stopped._

 _Then: "Visions and dreams. Dreams and visions. Which one is real? In this twisted game fate has designed. Soon! Soon… these revelations will unfold and only then you will find your voice."_

 _The woman wanted to ask who this person was, but still, her voice was greeted with silence. However, the laughter continued, as if the person understood her, and laughed at her muteness. The watching woman turned her head to the shadowy figure but the returning thick, black fog obstructed her view._

The woman opened her eyes groggily. She blinked several times, trying to remove the hand of Morpheus and her blurring vision. Her grip on the sheets slackened, and she exhaled softly. She stared at the pillow's end, not really seeing it.

 _What a weird dream_ , she thought worriedly, _and what was the point of it? Finding her voice?_ She shook her head, puzzled.

The woman had been having strange dreams since her arrival on the Endar Spire. When she met the beautiful brown-haired Jedi, Bastila Shan, in passing, the Jedi woman from her recent dream, the woman recalled, that triggered more intense dreams. But why did encountering her trigger such visions, especially of Bastila? And what of the mysterious voice whose laughter mocked her silence? Her dreams or visions or whatever had never spoken to her nor noticed her watching them. What changed? She moaned. Her head was killing her.

She sat up and brought her hands to her temples, moving her fingers in a circular motion. Her braided hair shiny from sweat fell into her face like a curtain. The sweat from her body cooled her, but the added dampness, especially in her undergarments, was a mild annoyance. Taking another deep breath, she pushed her hair behind her head. Her dark brown eyes scanned the room.

She was in an unfamiliar room in what seemed to be an apartment. The floors were covered in a dark red carpet, dirtied and worn and tattered. Fringes popped out like blades of overgrown grass. Large black spots also decorated the carpet, as if a battle took place … or murder… the implications more dastardly and devious.

"Carbon-scoring," she muttered.

Around her metal frames rusted red held the building together. The fading metal plates, their pristine gone, from what would have been, in its time, a regal and grand apartment, appeared from the torn wallpaper and ceiling fixtures, and captured the dull light from the ceilings and outside the murky windows. The light made the apartment somehow dirtier. The room reminded the woman of a jail.

The furniture – a few couches, chairs and a table – were covered with so much dust that it was a surprise that they were not made of it. An open doorway on the left led to what would be the bedrooms, a small kitchen was in the center, and a spread of a couch and chairs were near the windows. The place was in disrepair and whoever was the landlord let the place deteriorate from the inside.

Movement by the windows caught her eye. She turned her head and saw a figure leaning casually against the frame of the window, by the workbench on his left. His body was shrouded in flickering shadows and a dim light shined on his white face, showing his dark and clouded brown eyes. Two strands of brown hair fell loosely into his right eye and the rest slicked back to his neck. A light beard covered his face. He wore a large, brown cloak over an orange vest that hanged and swayed to his waist; his pants were black, and burnt orange kneepads protected his knees. She thought the man looked ruggedly handsome, but in a distant-sort-of-way.

The man stared out the window, thoughtfully and suspiciously, eyes downward, looming over the city like a hawk watching for movement of its prey. Hovercrafts flew by on and on, continuously, past the golden spires that reflected the star that it orbited – but he ignored them. His mouth was tight and in a frown. He looked far older than his thirties; it was in his eyes and the lines, marked by stress and the terrors he had faced, in his attentive expression. The woman knew him by name and gossip only.

He was the legendary and famed pilot of the Mandalorian Wars. His skills and piloting ability were well-known feats amongst Republic soldiers, even among scouts such as her: news travelled fast when the galaxy was – and is - at war. Personal exploits were hard to come by, but if they made a huge splash in the galaxy one could bet that their name was muttered in almost every cantina. She remembered Trask speaking reverently of his exploits in the Mandalorian Wars and this current war, during the battle on the Endar Spire. He was her savior, the man that Trask sacrificed his life for so that she could save Bastila Shan.

"Carth Onasi," she said in a soft whisper.

His ears perked, and his face turned, swiftly, to her. A glint of worry shined in his orbs before they became neutral, then slightly warm. Perhaps the change of thought was brought on by seeing her in practically nothing, or as a fellow comrade worried for her condition. The woman couldn't decipher his look. He peered at her, his lips curving into a smirk at the edge of his mouth. He moved his shoulders as if to walk to her but stayed by the window awkwardly, unsure if he should. He chose to remain by the window.

"It's good to see you're awake instead of thrashing in your sleep," Carth spoke. He had a soft raspy tone, as if he spoke in a loud whisper, and concern flowed in his words.

"It's good to be awake. Those nightmares were something terrible," the dark-skinned woman replied.

"Nightmares? I believe we all had our share with them." She nodded her head in agreement. She looked out the windows and then to him, sureness set on her face. The city had reminded her, immediately, of their position.

"Taris, right? In the Taris System of the Ojoster sector?"

"You would be correct. You've been slipping in and out of consciousness these last few days after you hit your head on the ceiling of the escape pod. I thought you would never awaken."

That would explain the horrible headache. _How in the Kriffing hell did I hit my head?_ she wondered. She tried to recall the incident but was met with striking pain. "Upper City, Taris," she finally grounded out. She took a few deep breaths to try and alieve the sudden headaches but they continued to pound however. After a few moments, the pain lessened to dull and incessant aches.

Carth blinked before his eyes roamed her face, searchingly. "You've been here before." It was not a question.

"Yeah, though, it's been so long. I don't remember much, except for the snooty nobility." She had to smirk at that comment. The nobility here did get on her nerves. Most aristocracies and bureaucrats were on her short list. Besides their haughty arrogance, they took too long on matters, such as the Mandalorian Wars. And all their drivel and constant arguments, their partisan rigidness, left the galaxy, and the Republic, in turmoil.

"My head hurts, so could you give me a brief rundown? I need something to focus on."

"Sure thing." He crossed his arms over his chest, his gold cuffs showing through the sleeves of his brown cloak.

"We're in the Upper City, as you know, hiding from the Sith. After the Endar Spire's destruction we crashed on one of the platforms, and during the ensuing chaos, I managed to pull you out of the escape pod and found this nearly abandoned apartment building. A few aliens live in this building. We should be safe here." His hand glided across the room, for its vacancy, and its seediness.

"The Sith landed after we crashed and quickly declared martial law. No ships can get in or out without the Sith passcodes and confirmation. Their orbital fleet, three Interdictor-class vessels, is keeping a close eye on the situation on Taris. We're stuck here, and it's only going to get worse."

"Worse? I thought landing in Sith-infested, humanocentric, and classist society was the worst," she scoffed.

"Not quite. Recently, I've heard news of Sith detaining Republic soldiers and Tarisians. They're pulling out all the stops in order to find Bastila Shan. Their oppressive hand has really come down here. Their thuggery and ruthlessness is certainly a sight to see. They closed a Republic outpost and embassy set up during the Mandalorian Wars by Revan and arrested their soldiers and diplomats. Public execution on public Holofeed channels has been a daily occurrence to lure Bastila from hiding."

"Bastila Shan, huh. That Jedi woman. Doesn't she have that Battle Meditation gift or something? Some sort of magic?"

"It seems you've taken more damaged to your head than I thought." The woman's eyebrows rose, begging for Carth to explain.

He didn't disappoint. "Bastila has the rare gift of Battle Meditation. She can use the Force to turn battles, bolster soldiers' confidence and make enemies lose their will to fight. Sometimes that's all that's needed to win. From what I know her power requires a great deal of meditation and focus, but the Sith caught us off-guard; and by the time we realized our situation it was already too late."

The woman leaned forward, interest shining in her eyes. "Such a valuable gem… no wonder Malak's plundering the galaxy for her," the woman said. She gave Carth a smirk. Carth frowned at her answer. He uncrossed his arms.

"Let's just hope there is a galaxy left saving. We have to find her, or else the Republic will lose their main advantage against the Sith."

"And if she's dead?"

"For the Republic war effort, we need her alive; and I'd rather go on the assumption that her pod survived the landing on Taris. I mean… if she's dead the Republic has lost the war, and we would all be under Sith domination."

"Don't you think the Republic's too dependent on the Jedi?" the woman asked.

Carth gave her a hard stare. He closed his eyes as he exhaled a long breath, as if unburdening an imagined weight. He opened his eyes - and there was something haunted in his look - and answered:

"As much as I would like to agree, we _need_ them. Their abilities with the Force are unimaginable. They can take life brutally, or save it. The Force can even wipe away a person's very identity. I've seen Jedi from the Mandalorian Wars use their Mind Trick to suggest and reprogram enemies or passersby. All it takes is a simple suggestion to _manipulate_ the weak-willed and the unguarded."

"Damn and I thought I was cool," the woman muttered to herself. Carth's ears twitched and a low chuckle reverberated from the man's mouth. The laugh relieved some of the previous tension in the air. The woman felt her shoulders droop a little, relaxed.

"How's your head…" Carth inquired, stepping forward, asking for her name.

The woman gazed at him. He should damn know who she was. He was the Captain of the ship. "Ina, Captain Carth. Ina Anor. It should be in your my records on your complimentary datapad. And my head is feeling a bit better."

"Good to know," Carth said, smirking, "And it's just Carth. No need to get into military formalities. We're all in the same boat here."

"You mean shipwrecked on a hostile world, here," Ina added.

Carth chuckled. "Only too right. Good. Go get dressed. The refresher is on my left. Your clothes are by the table chairs. Once you're dressed we'll scout Taris for any information on Bastila. There's a Cantina I had my eye on, we should start there. I've heard from various sources that two escape pods crashed into the Under City. One also crashed in the Upper City but the Tarisian Security Forces got there before I had a chance to investigate it. Luckily, it wasn't Bastila's. Someone else had got there before TSF. Nonetheless, we need to find some way down to the Under City."

A look of disbelief flashed in Ina's eyes. "The Under City?! That's even more dangerous than I suspected – what with the Rakghouls and all! Those blasted things are contagious monsters!"

"I know, I know, that's why we need to leave as soon as possible."

Ina nodded in understanding. Rakghouls, vicious and contagious creatures, were the bane of the Under City; and if they did not get there in time, whatever hope of getting to Bastila could be extinguished. Thinking of those slimy creatures made Ina's skin crawl rather uncomfortably. They needed to be put down immediately.

Ina rose from her cot, and Carth had the decency to turn his head. "What's the matter flyboy, I'd thought you were more used to this, considering all the hoopla for you over the years?"

"I know what you're thinking, but don't believe the hype. Rumors and gossip love to travel," Carth muttered, his face still turned though, she could his cheeks reddening.

The woman chuckled at Carth's retort and grabbed her clothes and went to the fresher. She came out not too long after, smiling pleasantly, which highlighted her cheek bones. The shower relieved a lot of stress from the dream and their current predicament. She felt rejuvenated. She was fully dressed now, a white long sleeve shirt covered by a large brown vest with two parallel pockets at the sides and dark charcoal pants with shiny, knee-length boots.

Ina walked to her backpack by the table chair, opened it and pulled out her equipment; her modified vibroblade and her most trusted blaster – another weapon she had modified after she had "won" it in an after-fight pazaak game in one of Coruscant's seedy cantinas. Some Gamorrean loser felt that she was cheating and threatened to kill her or, the less savory and worst possible outcome, for she would take a blaster bolt to the head than endure the harsh reality of her servitude, sell her into slavery to the Exchange. Before he pulled the trigger, Ina drew her own blaster and shot him between his large piggy eyes. She left the body in a rush, but not before looting for spoils. Those were the days before she was pressured to join the Republic's war effort when they needed jobs for scouts who knew the Outer Rim territories. Looking back, maybe, if she could, would have said No to their offer, but she needed the credits. Credits made survival in her occupation necessary.

She knew most of the Outer Rim territories like she knew the back of her hand. She had been a scout for years, since her teens, traversing the vast and starlit galaxy, mapping new hyperspace routes and searching for new planets. She lived for exploration ever since she was a little girl, when she gazed at the stars from afar from her home planet Deralia. The stars called to her, and she emphatically answered.

Outfitted and equipped, hair in an intricate bun, she was ready. Ina stretched for a few seconds, feeling the strain from her tight muscles loosen. To her amusement Carth tried but failed to busy himself with his own attire as his eyes kept drifting her form. When she was ready, she gave a nod to Carth, who checked his cloak. He had his two blaster pistols tucked away in their holsters on his hips. Carth ushered Ina to the door, and the two left their room into a well-lit corridor. They walked a few paces but halted when they heard a loud booming voice further down the hallway.

"This is a raid! I want all you filthy alien scum against the wall. Now! Or so help me I'm going blow your disgusting heads off!"

" _Please stop this, you've already came three time's today! We have nothing! Stop this madness!_ " an alien voice countered in Durese, his reply pleading and exasperated.

The Republic duo rounded the corner to see, in their shock, a wide spectrum of aliens – two Duros, three Twi'leks, two Togrutas, a Rodian, and a family of Quarren huddled together– lined against the wall. Their bodies shook with fear, faces in pain and torment; and the one perpetuating that fear was the light brown-skinned human male with a trim military haircut. The man dressed in a deep blue uniform with large black shoulder boards and a strap connecting from his left shoulder to his belt, gazed at the aliens in cruel fascination.

The Sith hovered over a kneeled body on the floor. He had just assaulted one of the Duros, a blue-skinned alien with red eyes and a large hairless head, whom was holding his right eye. His two droid bodyguards flanked him, their weapons trained on the aliens' backs. If they turned, the droids would mercilessly cut them down. Fear reeked in the corridor, and the man, whose eyes delightfully watched his captives, was spurred on from their looks of terror. He reveled in his power and the aliens' fear.

He kicked the Duros in the face. The male Duros let out a horrible wail and fell on his back, holding his new wound. Then the Sith stepped on his throat, pressing his boot on his esophagus. He laughed cruelly, a heartless and vengeful laugh that rang in the hallway, causing Ina to shiver in anger, as the blue alien tried but failed to remove it, his hand slumping against the Sith's black boot. He guffawed some more at the futility.

His eyes gleamed with power awakened by the scared and desperate looks of his audience. Violent lust glinted in his eyes, his cruel face euphoric. "The Sith Empire does not take too kindly to lies. Especially lies from your kind. Now this is what we do with foul-mouthed alien scum."

He pointed his blaster carbine into the face of the wide-eyed Duros, his face slackening from the exerted pressure on his throat. He pulled the trigger and blasted the Duros's head. Black carbon scoring marred the floor, and the remains of the Duro's face plastered onto his black boots. The human stared as his boots in disgust before threatening his whimpering audience.

"See what you did!" he roared in indignation. "Now one of you is going to pay for damaging my new boots."

He moved to the female yellow Twi'lek, his eyes dressing her up and down. He licked his lips. However, another pair of boots caught his attention. "I thought I told you not to mo –!" his voice stopped dramatically. His baleful eyes widened in surprise.

"Humans? Living with aliens?" he mused aloud, his tone incredulous. "State your business, citizens." He brought his carbine up, looking between the two humans.

Ina walked forward slowly, ignoring the man's order. Carth, startled by Ina's behavior, looked at her unsurely. "I said state your…" he paused, recognition brightening his eyes like a brilliant nova. "You're Republic fugitives! Attack!"

A barrage of blaster bolts sailed at Ina who dodged them with ease. She ran forward – and the captive aliens ran back – faster than humanly possible. She brought her sword out as the Sith fumbled for his, and clashed, steel against steel, of his longsword. Ina swung for the head, but the Sith ducked and before he rose, Ina grabbed the back of his head and kneed him in his face, feeling bone break at the impact. The man tumbled over. She then dodged a blaster bolt to her head from the droid on her left.

"Carth!" Ina called in urgency.

"I'm on it," Carth responded, his already out blasters firing with deadly precision at the droid on Ina's left.

The bolts smashed into the droid's head, causing a rain of sparks to descend on the combatants. Ina, with fierce determination, attacked the other armored droid, her sword slashing its blaster-rifle. She leaned forward to stab the droid's chest, but a warning, like a distant wind reaching its destination, came suddenly. Everything slowed.

She heard - no! - she felt the heartbeats of the world around her. She felt her own; she felt Carth's; the Sith's; the electricity flowing in the building and the droid before her; and the energy behind her. It was the same energy she felt on the Endar Spire when her life was in danger; the same feeling that announced itself when she felt the dark aura of the Sith behind the closed blast doors. It felt like a distant friend. She grabbed ahold of the feeling or whatever it was around her.

She glanced to her right, eyes widening as the deadly red beam neared her head. And, in that instant, she ducked. The world returned to normal. The blaster bolt crashed into the droid behind her, while Carth sent a torrent more into the machine. The droid collapsed to the ground. In mid-turn Ina's left hand grabbed her blaster from its holster and fired, only once, at the blaster-wielding Sith.

A look of complete horror filled his eyes, and a wave of self-preservation swept him. Blaster be damned, the Sith used his blaster-carbine as a shield against the blaster bolt. The bolt connected harshly with the blaster's battery, exploding and burning the Sith's hands in effect. A deep cry escaped the man's lips as he rolled on his stomach, his hands tucked protectively under him.

The man moaned pitifully, his face pained, his nose bloodied. Ina stared at the wounded man in anger. He was going to pay for taking an innocent's life, and spreading, in his brutality, terror to the people living here. She walked slowly, each step purposed. The Sith turned his head from the floor, his face scrunched, but a sneer curled his lips.

"Kriffing Republic scum! I hope Lord Malak oblit—!"a blaster bolt to the head silenced him forever.

Nonchalantly, Ina walked to the smoking body and began looting it, claiming two frag grenades and some spare credits. She tucked them neatly into her small pouch on her belt. She faced Carth, whom, now, was watching her in awe and somewhat suspicion. There was something indescribable on his face that Ina, searchingly, could not point. He seemed stunned, swept up in wonder: his mouth agape, his brown eyes frozen on her, narrowed. His expression left her wary of her superior.

"Anything wrong, Carth," Ina asked, curiously. Carth lightly shook his head. He scanned over the bodies cautiously.

"We need to hide the bodies before more Sith come," Carth said. A Duros came from the hallway, his head lowered in sadness. He bent down and examined the mutilated victim, lightly touching the chest with his hand. He regarded his saviors in relief, but terrible grief shined in his large red eyes.

" _Poor Xichil. He should never have talked back against the Sith. Thank you for the help, offworlders. Your secrets are safe with us._ " Two more aliens, a green Twi'lek with a plain face and another Duros, came with large black bags and started to insert the Sith and the droids in them.

" _Don't worry about the bodies; we'll take care of it. This will be our debt to you._ "

"Are you sure, I mean, they are Sith…" Carth said.

The Duros chuckled and a mischievous smile spread on to his thin lips. " _We have the means to make them completely disappear._ "

* * *

Another person was waking up to the world, although, in his state, his eyes remained closed, slightly quivering from his stirring. Heero did not open his eyes, but he stretched out with his senses. He could feel the light linen sheets against his body, a cool draft breeze caressing his skin. Using his ears Heero observed his position. He heard the sound and beeps of machines', the whizzing and humming of something in the air, the strident _brzzing_ of the air conditioning, and voices – two voices. The voices were engaged in a deep conversation, and Heero listened attentively to what they were saying.

"So, this planet is called Taris?" a voice asked.

"That is correct," answered an unknown, baritone voice.

"Interesting." The voice paused as if thinking then continued, "I knew there were other planets past my planet's solar system, but I'm amazed at how progressive this society is. Turns out Earthlings aren't the only ones in this universe."

That voice, unmistakably, was Wufei's. His tone was light and thoughtful, however, there was a trace of aloofness in the undertone as if his mind was distracted, or, merely, weighing the presented information.

"Humph. Progressive isn't the right term for this city, offworlder. You're in the Upper City, where the wealthy and aristocrats live," the cultured and baritone said.

The distinct voice expounded. "Taris is an ecumenopolis, a planet-wide metropolis, built on top of each other, from millennia of construction. There are three distinct cities: The Upper City, the Lower City, and the Under City." The man said the last words with a slight shudder, his voice quivering, in what seemed to be pity and fear. Heero was sure Wufei had picked up on that subtlety.

"The Upper City, as I said, is where the wealthy live in decadence and haughtiness, for the Tarisian government keeps them well protected and bubbled in their singular world, of course. Besides its grand spires, the Upper City's citizens declare themselves Taris's rulers, banishing anyone for crimes, even petty thefts, to the Under City. The laws here are incredibly rigid."

"What do you mean by banishing criminals to the Under City," Wufei asked. "What would incite such harsh justice?"

"The aristocracy abuses their power. Taris, millennia back, was amidst in a brutal civil war. The great planet that it once was, a jewel of great pride, decayed, stagnating under new and improved hyperspace routes. It soon became obsolete. As Taris dimmed, Tarisian industrialists hoping to make a quick credit using cheap power sources poisoned Taris's pristine oceans, nearly killing all aquatic and marine life. Tarisians are dependent on our oceans for food, and as a result, it inflamed class tensions. A great famine swept the world, and the lower classes rebelled when the Tarisian nobles horded most of the food and wealth for themselves."

The voice paused, giving a loud aggravated sigh. "Unfortunately, the lower class was defeated, and, with finesse and cruelty, a cruelty that persists and only worsens the problem, the nobles punished them. When the Upper City prisons became filled to capacity, the practice of banishment to the Under City became law."

"Humanity has declared themselves supreme overlords over all sentient species, then," Wufei said distastefully. "Even on my planet, humanity hasn't change. That's not _just_. Have the aliens rebelled against such draconian measures? To tolerate such conditions only exacerbates the animosity."

"They have but not in the way one would think. A large demographic of aliens reside in the lower class. They were permanently banished to the Lower City, where, horribly, violence and chaos are prevalent. They receive no help, so they solve their problems through vigilante justice. Those with special permits can access the Upper City, to escape the violence, but those permits don't guarantee their safety on arrival.

"Still, human prejudices run deep in our society and a great many agree that aliens should be exterminated. Physical assaults by the damn Tarisian aristocrats are common, and most of the time, as a result, they come here for treatment – because most of them aren't accepted in other clinics. I do what I can, and it is usually sufficient, but the work is constant! A growing xenophobic movement, harbored from centuries of humanocentrism, is gaining traction with the elites, and I'm afraid it's only a matter of time before the situation erupts in more bloodshed."

"Why is no one protecting the weak?" Wufei demanded, his tone frustrated by such travesties. "This encouragement and ignorance only rouses more violence."

"The Sith encourage such a development, as long as the Tarisians are cooperating with them, they'll expose their prejudices without restraint. The Sith have no love for aliens, either – unless their Force users or proven themselves for the Empire. In the Lower City, people are afraid. They can't trust anyone but the gangs that would shelter them, or maybe avenge their crimes. The Lower City Tarisian Security Forces have proven ineffective, even corrupt, as they colluded with the Lower City Swoop gangs. For the Upper City, you can imagine a populace so out of touch with reality, and imbedded in their ways, that they ignore such occurrences – maybe provoke them, as well. Society crumbles when we forget our compassion and heart."

"It's only a matter of time before civil war," Wufei posited.

Heero agreed. There was only so much oppression one could take before the lower class, unsurprisingly, rebel against their forced conditions, and overthrow the system. He knew this from experience: being a freedom fighter/terrorist for the colonies created such an experience: justice and revenge were intertwined; they had to be personal. Freedom meant revenge. Revenge meant freedom, for the colonial revolutionaries. One could not extricate one's self from years of oppression so easily without sudden retribution.

"That is what I'm afraid of. The tension is rife in xenophobia, and it's getting much worse."

Wufei hummed, his usual, when he was deep in thought. "Speaking of classism, what's it like in the Lower City? Explain the gangs."

"There are two rival swoop-bike gangs, the Black Vulkars and Hidden Beks. They are competing, ruthlessly, for territory. They'll fire on anyone and everyone that they deem to be a threat. Violence _is_ rampant. I have a clinic down there that's always full – kids gravely injured and more dead bodies of innocents and fighters. The place has become a nightmare and many can't flee because of the rigid laws enforced by the Tarisian government." Zelka cursed loudly, anger flowing in his voice, growing, like a fast stream transforming into a raging torrent.

"And the damn nobles just keep their arrogant noses in the air and blame them for their own misfortune and birth! My clinic is a neutral zone – I heal all, not just one side – so I get less harassment from the gangs, but…"

Zelka paused suddenly. He seemed to be waiting for something to happen.

"But," Wufei continued, still patient.

"I haven't heard much from my clinic and that's bothering me. It's as if all has grown completely silent. Kaz, my subordinate, hasn't returned any of my calls, neither have the protocol droids."

"The gangs swept in?" Wufei said.

"Hopefully not! As of right now I'm unsure. But if they did...? Well, I can't afford protection if it does happen - I won't hire men such as Davik's for bodyguards, either."

"He sounds influential, though; the wrong type of individual?"

Zelka chuckled humorlessly, even spitefully, as his voice lowered. Heero had to strain his ears to hear every word.

"Let me enlighten you offworlder on a little open secret. Davik Kang is an unscrupulous and dangerous crime lord of Taris. He has men everywhere, listening and waiting to do his bidding. His line of trade as a representative and crime boss for the Exchange on Taris: slavery, bribery, extortion, contraband, kidnapping, assassinations - the works. His infamous hands are soaked in everything that goes on in Taris. I guess I'm lucky. Since my medical facilities does not turn profit he doesn't bother me – but I can't say the same for the other shops on Taris, who, fearfully, pay him protection money, less they be harass by his thugs. He's nothing but a thug!"

"Men like him will meet their end through methods that equal their cruelty," said Wufei.

"I'm hoping for his end quickly, if it gives the people of Taris reprieve from his slimy influences."

"Now let's get to the Under City. You don't sound too fond of it," Wufei said, redirecting the conversation.

 _Wufei did notice the tremoring_ , thought Heero.

Zelka snorted. "The Under City's nothing but a wasteland where the unforgiven souls and their descendants live a bleak and desolate existence, trying to carve out nothing from something."

Zelka's tone became lower and graver, "However, the Under City is swarmed by dangerous beasts called Rakghouls. I don't know how they got here but they've been a deadly plague for generations. Living in prolonged exposure in the Under City breeds the disease, and a cut or bite can trigger the infection, thus, horrendously, transforming you into a mindless, diseased beast."

He paused once again, and Heero was unsure if he was being dramatic or there was something even more unnerving on his mind. People transforming into monsters? Heero frowned inwardly at this revelation. Heero came from a world where fairytales and fables, unscientifically proven from an age without technology, where cold, hard reality and fact met fantasy deconstructed and eviscerated them.

Zelka's voice turned into pure disgust, even revulsion. "Recently, I heard the Tarisian military with aid from the Republic was developing a cure - and they might have as well found one! - but with the Sith controlling the military bases, they'll reserve it for themselves. If I can only get a sample of the serum I can produce enough to wipe out the Rakghoul disease forever."

Though optimistic, Zelka chuckled solemnly. "The serum is likely in the hands of the Sith patrolling the Under City for the Republic escape pods. It would be pure suicide to attack them or break into the military base. I'll have to make do with what I have and provide free healing to anyone who needs it."

"I'm incredibly grateful for your hospitality," Wufei thanked politely. "But are you sure there isn't anything we can do for you. Your people rescued us from our crash, so there has to be something."

"Not exactly my people, offworlder, just some Republic sympathizers," Zelka admitted, "but helping people, especially those that need it, I could never turn away from such instances."

Silence overtook the room until Wufei's voice broke it. "Did you get all that, Heero?" called Wufei, loudly, "You can end the charade. It's time to plan our next move."

"Your friend cannot hear you. He's…" his words died on his lips as Prussian blue eyes flashed open.

Heero sat up, eyes alert. He looked around the room. Besides lying on a comfortable hospital bed, he was in a medical room that was clearly unfamiliar to any medical facility he'd ever been in. Familiar yet different medical instruments measured his pulse, and strange, small droids hovered around him, quickly taking in his health through their holographic transparent scanners, and transmitting the information to the wall of monitors beside him.

He found Wufei leaning against the wall parallel to him. His arms were crossed and his face was expressionless besides his dark eyes which looked thoughtful. He wore a dark blue tank top over his lean form, tucked inside high, loose-fitting, white pants, wrapped tight by a black sash, a utility belt overlaying the sash, two black armbands, and black slippers.

"This all sounds like an inconvenient obstacle," Heero muttered, checking his body, and then the room.

Wufei smirked. "Glad you agree."

In the far corner, three vats full of a strange green liquid housed three bodies. They did not move and seemed, for certainty, dead, as the liquid floated their bodies. Two were human males, and the other, Heero wasn't sure what she was. She was a humanoid woman. Heero noted her contained breasts and no male genitalia behind her undergarments. However, what he found strange – and alien – was her yellow phenotype and the two head tails protruding from her hairless head, coiling around her neck.

His eyes moved to the three cylinder containers by the vats, then back to Zelka, a dark-skinned human male, with balding curly hair, peppered from age, and large dark round eyes that looked as perplexed by the situation as he felt. He wore a modest green robe and nicely threaded beige pants.

Zelka's brown eyes were wide as saucers, staring at him in disbelief. He glanced at the monitors and then back to him, repeatedly. He tried to reason Heero's pulse remaining stable, eluding detection, his words escaping frenetically.

"But you were unconscious! How is – how were you able to listen to us? I've heard only Jedi were able to manipulate their bodies to be in a complete stasis, to fend off poisons and other chemical threats."

Zelka was referring to regaining consciousness without increasing one's pulse or brainwaves. It was a defensive move, in case he was captured. Doctor J was very thorough in his training. If he was captured he had to feign unconsciousness until he came up with an escape plan, a precautionary tactic devised by Doctor J and his colleagues. It was luring the enemy into false complacency.

Heero gazed at Zelka's dark face impassively. "That's not in important." He looked at Wufei, nodding in confirmation. "And yeah, I got it."

"How long was I out?" Heero said, feeling very restful… and good? There were no immediate pains, no healing abrasions nor swelling of the skin. It was as if he had never been injured at all.

"About three days. Your ship was detained and confiscated. It's most likely dismantled. You suffered minor injuries and I was able to treat you with some kolto packs," Zelka informed, still looking a scant uncomfortable with the situation. His furrowed brows seemed permanently stuck together into one long, black line.

Heero gave him a perplexed look. "Ah. I'm sorry if you're unfamiliar with the term, offworlder. Kolto packs are healing agents from Manaan. They're very much in demand by the Republic and the Sith."

Heero gave his hand a reflexive squeeze feeling his muscles quiver and tighten. Whatever kolto was it felt very good. He could feel no pain in his body. He removed the sheet, revealing his tone and muscled upper body and his underwear.

Even after two years, he never ceased his conditioning; he couldn't afford to. Relena needed him, and so did the Earth and the outlying colonies. Like his mind his body had to be as sharp and durable for any conflict that arose against Relena's ideals.

He looked for his clothes and Zelka pointed to a locker below his bed. He opened the locker and quickly dressed in his green tank top, blue jeans, blue jacket, and brown military boots.

"Who are they?" Heero inclined his head to the three vats.

"Do I have your trust that you won't tell a soul?"

The two Gundam pilots nodded. He told them they were Republic soldiers rescued by some Republic sympathizers. The Republic, Zelka said, was a democracy composed of numerous star systems, worlds, and sectors. They were at war with the Sith Empire, led by Darth Malak, a Dark Jedi. There was a battle above Taris, and many escape pods crashed to the planet. The three bodies in the vats were some of them. And yet, according to Zelka, they would not last too long: their injuries were fatal. Nevertheless, he did the best he could. Before putting them into the kolto vats, the Twi'lek, the yellow-skinned woman with head-tails, he recalled, whispered something important.

"She said," his tone becoming reflective, "something about protecting and finding Bastila Shan." Zelka started to pace restlessly, his lips twitching as he recalled the woman's last words before fading into oblivion.

"Who is this Bastila Shan?" Wufei asked. His eyes were on the vats. "She must be deemed of importance if it was the woman's last words."

"She's the key and the reason for the Sith on Taris. Offworlders, if you've been following the Holofeed religiously as I have, then you would know Bastila Shan's powers are crucial for the Republic. And I think," his face becoming more determined as he intently gazed at them, emboldened by a burgeoning hope, "this is why the Sith are adamant at finding her. Malak won't rest until she's captured. You can't leave the planet. The Sith blockade will obliterate your ship before you even take off."

"Sounds somewhat challenging," Heero commented. He'd been in rougher situations. There was never a mission he could not, and would not, do. All obstacles were calculated and performed with suicidal temerity.

Zelka stared at him for a moment, and then shook his head, sighing. "I'll leave to give you two some space. I'm off to the front of my facility. You may leave and comeback anytime for any healing or services that I can provide." With that, the green-robed man vanished behind the blast doors.

Heero turned to a gray footlocker at the foot of one of the empty beds, near the comatose Republic soldiers. Opening it he found a blaster, a longsword, some sort of cylindrical weapon with two openings at the top and bottom, three medpacs, and two comlinks.

 _Their possessions_ , he thought sadly. He gave a brief nod to the nearly-dead, as if asking for their respect and permission before, without remorse - because the necessity to live outweighed any moral obligation - plundered their remaining assets.

"We can use these," he remarked quietly, taking the items and distributing them amongst the two of them. Heero kept a blaster and the longsword placing them on his hip. Not knowing what to do with the unknown weapon, he tossed to Wufei, who caught it with a raised eyebrow.

Wufei's hand roamed the weapon, his onyx eyes studying the shape and contours. There was a white button in the middle that he depressed. The cylindrical weapon expanded in length. Two sharp and tapered blades that glinted dangerously in the light sprung from the holes.

Heero looked at Wufei as he gave a few practice twirls of his new weapon. A subtle deadliness and familiarity rocked Heero when Wufei practiced expertly with his new sword. It was like looking at the embodiment of the Altron Gundam. Each twirl, back and forth, downward and upward, in twirling figure eights, that turned the weapon into a mass of blurring gray, had a beautiful finesse, and an aggressive edge. Wufei was an extension of his Gundam's aggressive style – a style practiced with the grace of a warrior. It came to him naturally, and it made Heero realize why Gundam 05 was so dangerous – because the pilot was even more so, too. Wufei detracted the blades and clipped it to his belt.

The two congregated together, standing ready, in the center of the room. They went over a brief plan calling the operation Freedom. Wufei suggested infiltrating the Sith base by posing as Sith soldiers, or creating a mass diversion, and sweep in during the prevailing chaos. It was the expedient and efficient method of stealing the launch codes, he argued. Heero readily agreed with him; they would save time rather than searching thoroughly for this Bastila Shan. Like Wufei, he would go for their throats immediately.

However, he also countered with the dangers of the aftermath. If the Sith identified their presence, spaceport security would tighten. And if their escape ship was not fast enough, they'll just die by the blockade's turbolasers before they even reached the atmosphere.

Heero offered another suggestion. By searching for Bastila Shan while attaining information needed for their escape, they could both capture her and possibly coordinate a plan with her should she prove valuable and informative on encounter. Their success depended on the dividends if she was seeking an escape, too.

From what he learned from Zelka, this Darth Malak was absolutely relentless in his quest for Bastila, so that would buy them time. In addition, breaking into the military base would shorten their time on the planet and, consequently, gain the attention of the Dark Lord. Darth Malak wanted Bastila dead or alive, and if his forces could not subdue her in the allotted time… Heero shuddered at the thought. He had inkling that this Bastila Shan would be pertinent to their eventual escape. He didn't know why but he felt sure about it: it was the same clarity he felt in Zero. Something was drawing him to this encounter. He knew to always follow and trust his emotions – that was only way for him to live – and he would do so on his own volition.

Heero pondered both options, weighing each lengthily. He chose his decision. The best option was, for all of them, much to Wufei's chagrin, patience, cunning, and concealment. Heero was to-the-point type of guy, but in this instance the guise of normalcy while moving in a foreign environment provided the best alternative and cover. Not that it mattered too much, because, indeed, his skills in secrecy and infiltration were top – like any Gundam pilot trained for Operation Meteor. And: he wanted to see the abilities of these Jedi.

The Gundam pilots discussed a course of action. They would infiltrate the Lower City and start their search from there. The pilots met with a concerned Zelka who, quite persistently, wanted them to continue resting. However, he relented and offered them something that took them by surprise: he gave some stimulants. The pilots offered, for his hospitality and kindness, to search for his missing assistant. Zelka was ecstatic. He readily gave them the access datapads for the Lower City. The Gundam pilots left Zelka's medical facility to the dimming skylight of Taris.

* * *

 **AN** : Chapter three is underway.


	3. Taris: Act II

AN: This took too long! Finished. Important to note: I aged Mission Vao to eighteen for plot, there are three Interdict cruisers patrolling Taris, and Brejik is an ass (but that would be for next chapter I think).

Special thanks to vitork and Mandalore the Freedom. Appreciate your input!

* * *

The Upper City was breathtakingly beautiful. As Heero and Wufei traversed the Upper City walkways – bridges that connected to large platforms that served as intersections to various shops and buildings -Heero could not help but look in awe, at Taris' magnificent architecture. The buildings rose in arrogant triumph, a resplendence made to always look high, to surmount the sky until they reached the glimmering stars. They were a part of a golden age that now waned under the span of the greater galaxy.

The tall, dome-shaped, spires speared into the clouds, their windows reflecting beautifully the shimmering and lustrous glow of the setting sun. The red-domed roof tops when touched by the waning sun, glittered like a newly-minted bronze shield, slowly spreading to all the roofs in a harmonized spectrum dance.

As dusk spread through the city, electric lights brightened into existence. Blue, yellow, and pale white lights painted the buildings in luminescence in-between their metal coverings, as if the lights were emerging from the buildings themselves. They were, in unison, a harmony of iridescence.

The city was alive amid the occupation.

On the platforms, a cacophony of noise greeted the pilots as droids of various sizes and shapes – bipedal, rectangular, and balls – buzzed and beeped around the levels, offering, by their programming, services for the human population. And the humans themselves, of course, sauntered in their immaculate decadence and wealth arrogantly. They declared themselves as Taris's elite, wearing pristine robes, tunics and dresses. The humans walked with a sense of entitlement, claiming, in their gait, Taris's elegance. Their usual faces, set in condescension and egos, were only broken by their new master. For now their wide eyes and frightened looks collapsed their sheltered cages of affluent walls. The sky, the heights of Tarisian wealth and power, could be caged.

The Sith had arrived and struck the Tarisian nobility's civilized bubble with a crushing fear. They were conquerors shrouded in glossy silver armor. The armor covered a black body suit with black gloves, and a thick one-way black visor, obscuring any sense of humanity. They were faceless terrors, the soldiers of conquest, licensed to kill for the Sith Empire.

Their armor shined from the setting sun a reddish-silver, and to Heero, it could have been the blood spilt or coming, while occupying Taris. Although the fusion of color looked warm, the metal appeared cold and menacing. The Sith hounded the walkways like ravenous dogs hungry for blood, their hands cradling their standard blaster-carbines and other necessities for siege and destruction, in an overly-anxious and forceful manner, thundering in their patrols. Where they walked, the Tarisians fled.

Heero and Wufei made their way to a bridge connecting the human residential area to the business sector. A crowd swarmed and passed by them as they approached, in the middle, a transport station. They waited a few minutes at the station, watching kids laughing joyfully, while their parents scolded them: they knew the dangers of the surrounding oppressors. The parents did not know what could set them off, and by chance, their children's ignorance, used as a means of provocation, could enact brutal suppression. One could never know that a sudden change in the air could be a death sentence, the Sith the Tarisians', judge, jury and executioner.

Two Sith officers stood at attention across the opening of the transport line, their hands clenching their blasters. They looked eager for bloodshed, but their obedience to their training, so far, restrained their violent urges. Heero could feel the tension, their bloodlust, as if it was a physical manifestation - and it could have been, considering the subdued mood of the Tarisians.

Heero walked to the railing at the other end of the station and leaned against its cool surface. Hovercrafts and vehicles flew the open skies like a swarm of well-controlled bees, zooming and roaming the hive called Taris. The crafts landed on other platforms that adorned city buildings.

Compared to Earth, the existences of atmospheric, commercialized vehicles used by citizens, besides mobile suits, were nonexistent. Even the colonies, as advanced as they were, never considered any possibilities for atmospheric transportation besides spaceships, helicopters, and airplanes. Then again, the colonies were economically restricted by the Earth Alliance's punitive measures. The older colonies suffered the worst, for they did not have the economy to maintain their colony. Reduced to dilapidation and degradation, they decayed and OZ secretly sought to gas those rebellious to their rule.

A breeze blew Heero's wild, brown hair. He closed his eyes in relaxation, taking in the sounds of Taris, until a voice came up from behind him. "The Sith reek of bloodlust, I can feel it."

Heero peeked open a curious blue eye at Wufei. He took the place on his right, eyes ever watchful of the busy ecumenopolis. Wufei watched the city with a critical gaze that absorbed everything in sight. Nothing escaped from his sight; the subtleties and intricacies of Taris were all processed with a calculative mind. He moved his eyes up, and Heero followed their travel to a silhouette looming in the sky. The enormous ship hovered over the Upper City in space, its presence ominous and terrifying, if one were to look up. There were now, he had learned from a Holonet news report, two more patrolling in different sectors of Taris.

"They're waiting for an opportunity to go wild."

"They won't do anything yet," Heero said, his eyes drifting to the Sith guards at the station. They stood still as statues, but Heero knew they were aware, their eyes hounding the Tarisians behind those black, obscured visors.

"Don't be so sure. Bullies love their own self-aggrandizement, their own vindictiveness, especially when they force it on the weak."

"It's better to be uninvolved right now, Wufei. I have no need of my – or yours, especially – face plastered all over the city. We'll fight, but when the moment is right."

"The whole situation reminds me of OZ and the colonies," said Wufei, his tone touching on something tangible, perhaps a feeling of nostalgia – of their own subjugation under the Earth Alliance. On the surface, his tone was calm, but underlain, in his heartache and pain, anger tremored.

"It is a military occupation," Heero replied bluntly.

"I know. It brings back bitter memories." Wufei closed his eyes.

"OZ and the Earth Alliance... and Dekim… if they had this kind of power in the beginning, that this Darth Malak wields, to crush star systems, the world would tremble before them," said Heero after a pause.

"The kind of power that needs to be silenced forever," Wufei said thoughtfully, opening his dark eyes, and he turned to view the city over the rail. "Treize had it once, but his shortcomings diminished most of it until the Eve's War."

Heero merely nodded in understanding. These guys, the Sith, sounded worse than OZ at their prime. OZ took no liberties in planting disinformation, genocide, and oppression of nations. Treize's legacy was absolutely ruthless, but he held finesse, if one could call it, compared to the Romefeller Foundation, and Dekim Barton's cruelty was another side Heero would never like to see. He still bore the scars from such cruelty, physical and mental and emotional. Heero wondered if they were what the galaxy had succumbed to, complete subservience to bloodthirsty individuals.

A bell rang through the station, signaling the arrival of the Tarisian bus. The bus hovered into the station and landed on the platform. The two pilots, with the ever-growing and shoving crowd, entered the vehicle. Finding no place to sit, they stood. The bus hovered into the air, careening a bit before re-centering itself, and then accelerated into the mass of organized transports. The bus weaved in and out of traffic, passing endless spires until, finally, landed at its destination: the southern district of the Upper City – an area that was further than the residential district, but near the Tarisian Senate. The Upper City South, known as the business district, contained various buildings belonging to Taris's bureaucracies and industries. It also housed the military and the elevator into the Lower City.

The two immediately left the station and headed a distance, on another large and busy platform, toward a large arch that passed through the military base. Inside the arch, stood three Sith soldiers standing at attention. Dim yellow light underneath the arch shined a malevolent glow on their armor.

 _Three soldiers_ , thought Heero, _not bad odds_. Although he was not one for immediate violence when infiltrating – unless he had no choice, for instance, moving from point A to B, like his mission to assassinate the Gundam engineers -, he was confident that he and Wufei could handle the Sith soldiers. They were Gundam pilots after all – reckless fools, as Duo Maxwell would say.

Heero and Wufei eyed each other briefly before, with confidence and acting bestowed on elite infiltrators, they walked toward the first soldier, who was pacing back and forth mechanically. He stopped walking with their beckoning steps, baring his weapon at the trespassers.

A voice distorted by the soldier's helmet spoke in an automated and cold tone, "Halt. State your business, citizens. If you have no business, then move along."

"We have business with the Lower City, you see," Wufei answered, pulling their datapads out from his pocket and flashing it in the Sith's face, "we're a medical team under Zelka Forn's guidance. We've been tasked to do business with the medical clinic in the Lower City. I'm sure you've heard of the recent casualties by the Swoop-bike gang war."

The Sith roughly grabbed the pilots' datapads and brought it to his helmet. A long silence pervaded their small space with the accompanying sounds of moving vehicles and heavy and impatient feet, longing for a confrontation. The Sith bobbed his head up and down, scrolling through the datapads. Heero's hand drifted slowly to his blaster on his waist. He was beginning to think that they would have force their way in, as the Sith continued to stare at their screens. The deadly silence was compounded with the attention of the other two Sith, their body language threatening – weapons raised and legs spread in intimidation. Wufei glanced clandestinely at Heero, meeting his eye, before returning to the preoccupied soldier. Then, suddenly, the Sith looked up.

"Stay here," he ordered, as he converged with the two Sith guarding the barred door that led to the Lower City. Heero watched the soldiers talk briefly; their voices hushed to a whisper. One of the soldiers, wearing a blue uniform, had a grim look before nodding to something said by their mediator. The Sith returned, his blaster lowered a fraction.

"Everything checks out. I'd give you a bit of warning. Stay away from the Swoop gangs if you can, they'll attack anyone, even Sith and neutral citizens such as yourselves. Also: make sure that you're armed; those alien thugs, if they can, would rob the shirts off your dead bodies before they even turn cold if it could make a profit."

He returned their datapads and backed away, resuming his station. The pilots walked towards the door, the Sith giving them a bit of space, as its mechanical gears unlocked the newly attached padlocks. They stepped into the elevator, the doors shutting loudly and locking and barring any attempt for escaping. They descended to the next level, the shadows of the shaft engulfing the small compartment, and waiting, waiting for its new victims to be consumed in the madness and sorrow of the Lower City.

* * *

The transport bus raced through the evening sky, passing the teeming and imposing spires and busy crafts on Taris's airways, roaring by them in impatience; a kind of impatience that was all too common among Tarisians: They were always busy! Their outside lives reflected this very culture – partying, shopping, business and industry, anything to enrich their lives in wealth.

Inside, the occupants' incessant chatter that seemed to provoke an air of alarm – or anxiety masked in jubilance – increased in volume, reaching the ears of Ina, who was quietly gazing at the city. The duo had exited the abandoned Residential building and made their way to a bus station. From there, they took the bus to the Cantina, hoping to gain more information on the Republic escape pods and Bastila Shan.

Fear, which could stab the heart, and, chillingly, paralyze the body, remained the culprit of the passengers' thoughts. Even without the Sith with them, the upper class Tarisians were unsettled by their aggressive appearance to their world. And although they tried to forget these conquerors – by leaving towards the entertainment sector, to lose themselves in escapism, the intoxication of lights and drunkenness – it still crawled and lingered in the back of their minds.

To the two Republic fugitives, the atmosphere was palpable, which only seemed to grow – impatient, fidgeting, raising voices an octave higher, furtive glances, and tightened mouths, and unanswered questions left hanging in the air. Suspicion was king, but no one dared, publicly – or in the right mind – to admit such an accusation to the wrong sort: usually aliens, found mysteriously on Lower City floors, their bodies crushed or hidden in dumpsters, to offworlders, or the occupying Sith.

Irritated, Ina withheld a sigh. She thought she could find some peace of mind from her captain's perfidious attitude, but she could not help but feel her irritation simmer by the disdainful and curious eyes of the bus's passengers. Men, women, and children discreetly looked her way, noticing her odd outfit; an outfit of an outsider, a foreigner, an offworlder. Most would have gone in a fury if she was an alien, alone.

She could not help the way she looked. Being a scout wasn't a glamourous occupation. It usually never paid enough – the near-suicidal jobs did - and the food was terrible. However, what compounded the issue was her superior officer. He, too, was observing her. He had been since they had left the Tarisian downtown apartments. Carth's eyes were dark and calculating as he sat on the crowded bus beside her. He intermittently would glance at her and frown, muscles in his cheeks tightening and deepening, as if pulled and strained by an anchor.

A slow smile descended upon the dark-skinned woman's lips, quickly turning into a smirk. She faced Carth, now, eyes glinting mischievously. "See something you like," she teased, "or do you stare distrustfully at everyone you meet?"

Carth's face turned to puzzlement. He closed his eyes briefly and a slow chuckle built its way in his throat. It was humorless. "Only those that pique my interest."

"In what way?" Ina questioned, her head tilting a bit, like an eager child.

Carth peered at her intently, leaning forward. Ina could see swollen bags underneath his eyes that hung like clouds. He kept his voice to a whisper. "I find it strange that a scout like you survived her way through the invading Sith party unscathed. It's quite an astounding feat, considering the odds you faced. And yet here you are…"

Ina knew by his tone what Carth was implying. "What are you trying to say, _Carth_?" Ina said lightly, though, his name came out harshly, like a razor's edge. "That _I_ shouldn't have survived?"

"Yeah, maybe you shouldn't," he whispered suspiciously, almost rhetorically, but his eyes widened in horror at his mistake. Ina sneered at the man. How dare he question her on her survival on the Endar Spire; and the lives that, selflessly, paid the ultimate price for her to reach the man sitting before her!

 _Trask_ , she thought gloomily. If it was not for him, she would have not made it out of alive. From their cabin to the bridge and the escape pods, they battled fiercely the invading Sith party. She had not really seen much of the man because of their separate shifts, so she had a hard time figuring out his identity, besides someone frightening the stars out of her. He had a booming voice, and his severe and stricken expression didn't make their encounter better.

Amid the chaos and rain of blaster bolts to the violent shuddering of the ship, they stuck it together, defending each other's backs while Captain Onasi instructed them to the escape pods. Climatically, and tragically, in the end, only Ina was able to meet Carth at the escape pods. A Dark Jedi ambushed them on their way to the pods, and Trask, knowingly, sacrificed his life for her survival, to find Bastila, because the Republic needed that hope if they were to survive the war against the Sith.

His final act was the for the Republic through and through, and she would be damned if Carth's distrust would get in the way of the mission; even if she had to do this alone, she would make sure she would find Bastila. She owed Trask that much.

Carth tried to retract his words. "No… I mean… I did not mean that… I mean… damn it!"

"Look, Carth, I don't have time for your suspicion. Our mission was clear - find Bastila Shan. If I can't do this with _you_ , I'll do it on my own."

"I know, I know." He sighed. "It's just hard to understand that someone such as yourself had these kinds of remarkable feats. Your records, I have to say, are quite astounding. Your affiliation with numerous alien languages, your battle skills, and even your knowledgeability of planets and hyperspace routes wasn't something I had foreseen from a person like you on this mission.

"I looked at your skirmishes on the Endar Spire through the camera system and pondered over and over how a fresh recruit could contest the Sith boarding party. It just didn't make sense. Come to think of it – a lot of things didn't make sense. When the Jedi recruited you, they did not tell us a damn thing! Instead, they made demands. They practically took over the whole operation, leaving us in the dark when they boarded," he said angrily.

Ina gave a snort which furrowed Carth's already scrunched eyebrows. "Then how is it my fault? The Jedi came to _me_. They hired _me_ for this mission."

Ina was afraid if Carth's eyebrows went any higher it would reach past the stratosphere, and maybe hit Darth Malak's ship, causing it to explode, thus ending the war. She chuckled inwardly at the image. If only things like that could happen, the war would have been won. It would had saved the galaxy more lives.

"What do you mean?"

"Nuh-uh," she wagged her finger playfully. "We all have our secrets, and our secrets are what we cling to when we know that we're all that we have to trust. I'm not ready to divulge such revelations to a person I barely know, and I'm sure you're not either. Right now, we need to focus on the mission."

Carth agreed rather reluctantly, muttering something along the lines of "We'll see." Ina noticed the man had trust issues, and she hoped that this would not come to bite in her ass. It probably would. The man was too uptight and whatever demons he had, he sure could not overcome them. She could see it in his dark eyes. His demons were alive, and they haunted Carth as if they were corporal manifestations standing beside him.

Ina sighed. _By the galaxies and stars, I need a better job._

* * *

Ina felt the bus land on the platform with a loud thump. The doors opened and the raving crowd left into Taris's brightly eclectic entertainment sector. Neon signs glowed as brightly as supernovas, showering the pedestrians in shimmering light that blinded if one looked too long into it. It was a carnival of lights and sounds and moving bodies that worked in orchestration with the sector. Ina noticed some drunks were staring at the lights, gesticulating and pointing, blinded by the light, jumping up and down, much to the onlookers' amusement. However, silence descended in the area like death.

She and Carth moved to the front of the crowd, elbowing and shoving people to get there. The crowd north of them parted slowly as two armored Sith soldiers approached the inebriated trio. One of the trio decided to point at the Sith, jokingly calling them names until, mouth slacked in fear, the Sith pointed their blasters and fired. Ina was about run to their aid when Carth held her back forcefully.

"Look," he whispered.

And she looked. The drunks staggered backwards, the alcohol working against their bodies, and fell on their buttocks. The three drunken men's state of intoxication all but left them as they stared with trepidation at the two black carbon-scoring spots near their feet. They hurriedly got up and left, their clumsiness forgotten as flight and self-preservation raced in their blood. An uneasiness settled within the crowd and silenced reigned.

The Sith that fired its weapon, head still swiveling, slowly, observing the fearful audience, stated, "Move along citizens. There's nothing to see here."

The crowd slowly dispersed, returning to their promenade in the sector. They were more subdued, more tensed. Ina could see it in their now rigid shoulders as if, physically, the Sith were pinning them against a wall.

Ina felt a wave of burning anger thrash within her. It felt like a raging rancor caged but pounding savagely against its steel walls to break free, chipping away the walls' defense. She wanted to fight them now, but it would be incredibly foolish of her to reveal herself. She looked at the scene with fiery eyes as the Sith vacated the area. Carth put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she brushed it off, deciding to head to the cantina. She heard they had installed a dueling arena, a recent addition, from some sporadic conversations on Coruscant. From what she could remember during her last visit (her head still felt foggy from the crash) they did not have one at that time. Maybe dueling would lessen the boiling volcano inside of her. Carth followed closely behind, eyes scanning all Sith that dotted the streets.

The two wandered to one of the largest and most decorated sites of Taris: the Upper City Cantina. The cantina was a large and grandiose domed-building, glittering with dazzling and flashing lights. The building had a profligacy that personified the world's ills and seemed to jut its existence with unholy magnificence of wealth and self-gratification. It was apparent that the Tarisians, counter to the foreigners and offworlders there, were ignorant of such extravagance: Why would they when they owned and created it on a whim to indulge their own personal pleasures?

A lone Sith soldier stood guard by the entrance. The Sith was apathetic to anything besides its duty. The Sith imperceptibly turned its head. The Republic fugitives strode into the Upper City Cantina.

The voluminous noise and acrid smoke attacked her senses as she stood at the entrance. A go-lucky smile worked its way to her face. She felt the tension drain from her body, not all, but enough to cover her bad mood. They made their way through the Pazaak Den, glancing at calculating eyes and impassive faces of gamblers warring in a fierce game of cards and intelligence. The dim lighting only made the game more intense and intimidating, like assassins in the dark, stalking their prey, the pazaak duelers were hyper-focused on their game, as the shadows played in the dark.

Ina loved pazaak. Competing against rivals thirsty for credits and fame, the game prided itself on skill, talent, and a little bit of luck. Before joining the Republic, she earned herself a name in Coruscant's cantinas as The Mask. Her poker face was legendary and many became frustrated by her unfazed visage, thinking they had an upper hand, when really, she held the game by its throat since the start.

The duo left the players through an open door that led to a circular bar. The patrons decked in their expensive outfits lounged and danced freely, bodies swaying in the flickering red and yellow lights to a rhythm so electrifying that the drums became the personification of the dancers' wild stomps and gyrating hips. They danced like the Sith's occupation was temporary, hardly a nuisance to their daily lives. Their bodies twisted and turned, bobbing and swaying, molding the music into them, becoming the music as the notes rose and crashed, and screamed and pounded, violently, spellbindingly hypnotic.

The band – an alien band with three Bith percussionists, a Rodian drummer, and two scantily clad Twi'lek dancers - jammed, reading the syncopated beats of their audience by playing in tandem a beat so delicious that drove them wild. The Twi'lek dancers moved in synchronization, like one body, in the melody and thumping rhythm, hypnotizing the audience, their bodies following the motions of each dance move like a synchronized water show. Some human men and women catcalled and whooped, while others viewed them in disgust from behind their drinks, whispering snide remarks drowned out by the music.

Ina felt the beat, the groove and rhythm hammering into her body causing her shoulders to bounce and head to nod, but it was not enough to sway her to the alluring dance floor. Dancing could wait. She came here for a purpose, and that purpose involved credits.

"I'm going to find a dueling ring," she said at once, loudly, over the music, in Carth's ear. He slightly flinched at the volume.

"How's that going to help us find Bastila?" he half-yelled.

"It won't." Carth blinked. He was looking at her strangely.

"But it'll help me relax a bit, and we'll get some credits to survive on." She rubbed her fingers as if she had the credits in her hand. "Keep me informed, flyboy."

With a quick nod to a gaping Carth, she set out to the dueling arena, finding the room further toward the back of the floor. A large square room decorated with a series of small screen panels aligned the room in two rows. Patrons huddled over the screens, roaring with animalistic delight, cheering, and to some booing noisily. A soft green and blue light enveloped the room. She walked in, looking in wonderment.

"I think Deadeye might redeem himself! He can beat Gerlon!" a female patron yelled, standing by a screen panel with a man.

The man rolled his eyes. "Please, Lydia. He's _Deadeye Duncan_ ," he drawled. "The only thing he's good at is running like a scared mynock, and losing. I bet he has never won a fight in his career." He laughed, receiving a scathing look from Lydia.

"We'll see."

Ina peered at the screen with intrigue, her gaze hungry for entertainment.

Two men were fighting in the dueling ring. A dark-haired man with two, working fingers fired a series of shots at a balding, pepper-haired, older fighter. The older man zigzagged and dodged clumsily the bolts with tight flexibility. The shots nearly touched his person. He was sweating profusely, but his eyes showed a determination and resolution of a winner. He seemed ready to outlast his opponent, if only by sheer determination.

He continued to dodge the bolts, while firing his own, much to his opponent's surprise – he should have been defeated already! The younger man's face sported a mixture of disbelief, and his deep blue eyes glinted in anger that one showed when slighted by fate. The dark-haired man leaped out the way as a bolt nearly grazed his hip.

The older man smiled in triumph; he wasn't going let this advantage go to waste. Red shots flew consecutively at the dark-haired man. The dark-haired man proceeded to roll to his side to escape the danger, as shot after shot struck his previous spots. Suddenly, he stopped rolling. His blue eyes hardened like duracrete steel. From the ground, he fired at Deadeye. Deadeye dodged the bolt, but he was caught off-guard, fumbling his blaster until it clattered to the stadium floor. The dark-haired man's smile was victorious. He shot the helpless man in the face. The older man collapsed to the floor motionless.

 _And there we have it! Gerlon has done it again. Deadeye Duncan is down for the count. He almost had his shot at reclaiming his diminishing prestige. Too bad. Until next time!_

Ina glowered at the announcer's voice. The announcer had a way with words. It was flattering for the winner but equally disparaging for the loser – especially if the loser held little to no worth as a fighter. Still, the battle riled an inner fire, a calling to her to test her skills, metal against metal, flesh against flesh, against Taris's dueling elite. From what she heard from the chatter of the room, a Hutt named Ajuur was in charge of Taris's dueling arena.

She spotted him easily amongst the crowd of sports admirers, laughing jovially, and relishing in the wealth attained from the fights. He was the gastropod in the far back, reclining on a red sofa; his long and large form was the most indistinguishable person in the vicinity. The alien's bulbous, oily body resembled a slug, a large slug too big to squash. The Hutt had a beige front side and an oily, dark blue, backside.

Ina eyed the alien carefully. The Hutts were shrewd business people, and she hoped to get more out of the deal than what she had now – which was not much. She sauntered to the alien, his laughter thick and boisterous that rumbled his large stomach like ripples in water, now, ended, at her presence. He looked at her as if she was just nuisance, then curiosity. His blue serpentine eyes regarded her like some sort of jewel – all of her – something he could parade and a slow, a creeping smile turned his large mouth upward. Ina had to withhold a shudder at his perusal, holding back some traitorous thoughts of slamming a fist into his face.

The masculine Hutts (some Hutts were hermaphrodites), apparently, had a fetish for young, svelte humanoid females – humans, Twi'leks, Togrutas, Zeltrons, Zabraks - that could on command, perform a very sensuous and erotic dance. They were entertainment.

From Nar Shaada to Nal Hutta, to the deserts of Tatooine and many more, the Hutts gravitated toward wealth and power with lust ever-present in their wake. Collectively, their species controlled a large swath of the galaxy. The Hutts were powerful people, and they were not to be crossed, even those that dwelt in the Upper City. Ina was fortunate to have never gotten on the bad side of a Hutt. Some if not most were said to hold eternal grudges.

"So you must be Ajuur," she started, her voice light, "The owner of the arena. Have a good night?"

The Hutt chuckled, which sounded like rocks tumbling down a mountain. He spoke in Huttese but she understood it well enough to communicate with him. It was one of the perks of being an accomplished linguist. Speaking in different alien dialects came natural to her as breathing.

" _It wasn't the best night considering who fought today, but a profit is a profit. It'll keep pouring in regardless of who competes_."

Feeling him relax, Ina struck. "The names Ina Anor. If you like profits, sign me up. I'm sure that I'll make you more than your employees ever could."

He scrutinized her, his eyes on her longer than she felt comfortable. He laughed – whether it was at her or at something else, Ina did not know. She didn't really care, either. " _Big talk, big talk. Many people have said that, so what do you have that others don't? What makes you special, to hold the attention of the fans, and to fatten my pockets?_ "

"You'll have to see, won't you?" she said smoothly.

The Hutt chuckled again. " _I like that. A_ mystery _."_

His larges became wide and a slow smile crept on his face at a sudden realization. "You. _You'll be known as the_ Mysterious Stranger _._ No history, no past, no name _. It would seem as if you came from nowhere, a new challenger from nothing. You'll be an underdog from the shadows, climbing the challenging ladder of the dueling hierarchy. You would be a spectacle to behold if you perform adequately. Otherwise, I'd be wasting credits on an insignificant._ "

"But I do have name!" Ina countered, pointing a finger at the Hutt.

Ajuur scoffed. " _Noah! That won't attract a crowd; they like mystery, something new, something fresh. Names only have meaning when they create a stir, birth acknowledgement and devotion. When your name shakes their hearts and their foundations, it will have power! Dignitaries and people of affluence will crowd around you, greedy for your time and fame – that's when you know you've made it!_ "

Ina begrudgingly accepted his offer, and the two delved into compensation and profit sharing. The Hutt declared he would share a rough cut of her profits, about 10 per cent. She bargained for more, arguing that by the time she faced all combatants, she – and only she – would stand triumphant over their bodies. The Hutt had given her another curious look, his expression eager. He gave her 20 per cent, no more, no less. She took it, and entered her first battle.

According to Ajuur, the stadium had energy suppressor shields which would render casualties, such as death, low, although, the chances of permanent injury could happen. Unsurprisingly, it was the easiest match she had since her run-in with some drunken Exchange thugs on Nar Shaada. She overcame Deadeye Duncan by being faster and smarter. The poor man, Deadeye was out cold before he recognized his defeat.

The crowd wasn't so enthused, but the profits made up for it. Her next opponents, Gerlon Two-fingers, Ice, the only female competitor, and Marl, were tough, and outsmarting Marl was tougher than she expected from the staff-wielding man. He gave her a couple of lumps she would never forget. Her last opponent was a Rodian named Twitch. From what she heard from Marl, Twitch got his name from how fast he pulled the triggers on his blasters, as if was instinctual, intrinsic, like a twitch. Marl was afraid of the berserk Rodian.

Later, she found herself, again, in a large stadium in the Upper City. The audience roared in elation. The audience roared for blood. From her spot in the center ring, the people, high above the ground, melted together in a sea of color and faces. Ina could feel the vibration in her ears of their cries of anticipation. She, herself, found the excitement fun though disconcerting. Their animalistic cries for grew louder.

Her opponent did not seem to mind the noise. The Rodian looked indifferent, shifting on both legs and hands, reflexively gripping and releasing his blasters in his hands. Twitch's voluminous large black eyes watched her, as if she was the only thing he saw at the moment. Nothing, neither the elated crowd nor the announcer seemed to deter his stare. His antennae twitched and his green reptilian scales darkened with anticipation.

" _Beware! Be fast! Cause Twitch is gonna smoke your ass! Red and holes. Black smoke! Beware! Be fast! Cause Twitch is gonna smoke your ass!"_ he spoke suddenly. " _Be fast! BE FAST!_ "

"Just shut up," Ina whispered.

The pre-bell tolled and the crowd quieted. The announcer spoke, his voice bombastic. _And now, we have what you've all been waiting for! The final match is here, between two of Taris's elite duelists in our very short history. In one corner, we have our champion Twitch, whose rise to fame has captivated the dueling circuit, and in the other corner, we have the Mysterious Stranger, whose dramatic expedience to the top has left us clinging to the edge our seats. Can she unseat the champion, Twitch, or will she fade into obscurity. Let's find out! Begin!_

A buzzing sound that commenced the duel screamed in the air, and Ina became alert. Two red bolts soared in her direction at the blink of an eye, and she ducked her head and turned her left shoulder to the right, while raising her right arm. The two bolts sailed harmlessly away, and she breathed a sigh. She started to run, a plan forming on how to deal with the quick-shot as bolt after bolt barreled after her. The bolts were relentless.

Unsurprisingly, Twitch did not move. He was probably confident in his skills to shoot her from a distance. She'll just have to manage that. She fingered her frag grenade and drew her blaster, amid the red light hurdling in her direction. Her blaster bolts screamed at the Rodian, but missed, hitting the area around him.

"Sith spit!" she cursed. The Rodian sure wasn't letting her get in a clean shot.

The Rodian, startled, started to laugh insanely, like a sound of many coils flailing, as he ran from her attacks, striding while attacking. She predicted this movement and aimed at the floor, dodging a bolt at her hip and neck, feeling the heat against her skin, sizzling fine hair. Running to the right, she aimed a few precise shots at the floor at his feet, hounding him backward.

The Rodian jumped back for distance, and that was when she threw the frag grenade. It volleyed through the air among the loud cacophony of the audience, and screaming of the bolts, and was shot out of the sky, the grenade exploding and thundering.

"Hutt slime!"

Twitch looked at her and smirked, spinning his blaster between his fingers. He then as quickly aimed and shot. Ina felt pain shoot her arm. She quickly dove to the left as more bolts hounded after her. She got up and ran towards the Rodian. She needed to close the distance and fight close-quartered against thim. Ina hoped he liked have a vibroblade in his face.

Ina fired and fired at the Rodian, gaining a few feet while barely dodging his shots. When she was in distance, she jumped, withdrawing her vibroblade. Two more shots struck her in the torso, but it was enough for her to pounce on him and strike him at the base of his neck.

She fell on him, tumbling to the ground. The two combatants did not move.

 _By the Center of Everything! It looks like we have a double knockout! The Mysterious Stranger and Twitch are down! They are motionless! Is this it? Has the match become a draw? Wait! One of them is standing up! Could it be…? The Mysterious Stranger!_

Ina staggered to her feet, clenching her abdominals in pain and panting harshly. She hurt like hell. She stumbled a bit, but kept to her feet. Sweat poured from her face yet a dazzling smile adorned her face. Her suicidal gambit paid off. In a real match death would have claimed both of them yet the energy suppressors allowed for such a bold move. And what a move, as Twitch remained unconscious!

 _And there we have it! Twitch is down! Twitch! Is! Down! We have a new champion! All hail the Mysterious Stranger! All hail the Mysterious Stranger! People will be chanting your name for years to come! Congratulations!_

After seeing the arena's medical unit and receiving kolto packs for her injuries, Ina left the dueling arena with a certain confident swag in her gait. The amount of credits she earned was astronomical, although, this put her out of business indefinitely. Ajuur had looked a cross between delighted and sad – at the same time. His revenue from Ina's matches was great, but he could no longer compensate her – " _Who in the world would want to duel her?_ " he had said.

Leaving the dueling arena and heading toward the bar, she saw Carth at a table conversing in low tones with an older man whom seemed to be a spacer. He was of average build with tan skin and messy black hair, hunched over his drink. She was about to greet him, and surprise him with credits, when a woman blocked her path. Judging by her uniform, she was an off duty Sith Officer. Ina paused, slowly reaching for her blaster. Did she know who she was? Was her cover blown? she thought wildly.

She fixed a pleasant smile on her face. "How can I help you?"

The Sith officer studied her as an object of great import, begging to be appreciated in all its contours and angles. Her brown hair was in a regulated bun and a few wisps surrendered down and pressed to her face. Her brow glistened in sweat and her cheeks were flushed – either from the alcohol or dancing, Ina was unsure which, but she knew that look of desire that, presently, announced itself, boring into her.

She wore the usual blue uniform however, her collar was unbuttoned. The woman smiled a sultry smile that seemed to hint on what her future actions would be. She bore confidence that declared that she always got what she wanted and she knew the methods of achieving such goals. She glided closer until she was a breath away. Ina could feel her breath against her skin, the booze wafting off her in a spicy dizziness, a familiar scent of Abrax.

"I saw the way you pulverized your competition, and I had to admit it was intoxicating watching you smite them, showing them that this wasn't just a man's game. That we women can stand atop the proscenium, too," the woman complimented. She had a posh accent from one of the Core Worlds.

Ina smiled. She was safe. She decided play along and see where the situation and fortune would take her. "It wasn't much competition, but I'm sure a Sith like you found me dreadfully boring. Compared to your work, I don't think I'd stand much of a chance."

"Not at all," the Sith waved away, smiling. "Your performance was eloquent, I'm sure you had lot of training, Mysterious Stranger." She glanced at her form in unabashed appreciation. The alcohol made her bold and seemed to excite her growing desire as brown eyes gleamed in the flickering lights.

Ina shrugged. "I can't help it if the talent here is mediocre, though it helped me unload some steam. Being grounded here has got me tightly wound."

"You're an offworlder?" Surprise spoke on her face.

"Yes," said Ina.

"I'm sure you're worried over the occupation."

Ina shrugged nonchalantly. "Not really. My attitude has just changed," Ina said, smiling, as she pushed back the strands of the woman's hair.

The Sith blushed, looked around, briefly, then back at her, grinning. "Say a couple of us Sith officers are having a party tonight to blow off some steam. A lot of us are going tonight. I would really like for you to come, if you don't mind tons of silver armor," she said, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shiny.

Ina jumped happily inwardly. This was too good to be true. A couple of Sith officers, all drunk, in one place, this could develop into something spectacular to get inside the Lower City. Who knew what treasures lied around inebriated Sith soldiers?

"I'm in," Ina said with a wink.

The woman smiled, and leaned closer, brushing her lips against Ina's ear. "The name's Sarna and we're at the residential area sector in the Southern District, in apartment 324, on the third floor. Don't be late." Sarna gave a lingering kiss to Ina's cheek before walking off into the Pazaak Den.

"That worked better than expected," Ina chuckled.

"What was that about?" Carth said, his gaze questioning. He looked between impressed and terrified: Impressed that a Sith did not attack them and openly declare their affiliation as Republic fugitives, and terrified at conversing with one.

"It was our ticket to the Lower City. I hope you love parties, Flyboy, because we're about attend a Sith one!"

* * *

Heero leaned against the wall of the entrance of Zelka's Lower City clinic, watching the stream of aliens flood by in mass, a never-ending stream of strange people and noises he had ever seen or heard. They came in all variety and sounds: some gurgled, others clucked, some rumbled, some garbled. Others had tentacles, or more than one head tail, or some looked like reptiles, their tongues hissing in a strange sibilant language; some had large yellow heads and large black bulbous eyes; some had large bulbous blue heads and red eyes with thin lips; others had two eyes with long necks attached to a slouching body. It was a quite strange phenomenon for Heero, who had thought he had seen everything known to humans, experienced the greatest terrors – only to be astounded by the mere fact of different aliens ambling about the streets.

They were the Lower City Tarisians that lived in the shadows of the kilometers high, grandiose skyscrapers of Taris. They walked carefully, eyes zooming in all directions. The atmosphere was boisterous but it was also subdued. The inner city gangs were feared in the areas and, on a moment's notice, could precipitate an unmeditated attack on the populous, indiscriminately firing on innocent bystanders, in a turf war to demolish their rivals. Heero saw the emotions in their manners and gestures, their heightened senses, and watchful eyes. His eyes drifted across the people, to two humans, one with a severe scar over his eye, graying short hair, an athletic build, silently watching his comrade harping down intimidatingly over a smaller alien, who looked scared out its wits, its large black eyes wide in fright.

Heero dragged his blue eyes from the subdued crowd to the towering buildings where streams of light flooded from the Upper City dawn. The towering buildings nearly obstructed the sky. They looked infinite from the bottom, towering into space. They felt confining like walls built to entrap, a claustrophobic panic of a world imprisoned by its towers that seemed like guards – or the lower classes' jailors. The Lower City had a dark aesthetic, compared to the Upper City: and it wasn't just the lack of light that towers stole. The air was polluted, and a sense of timidity and suspicion crowded and permeated the world. It was those negative feelings he felt inundating the populace.

It had taken them awhile but they finally found the clinic. It was near the residential sector, in a storied building. They were fortunate that some people spoke their language, calling it Galactic Basic. The aliens were familiar with the language, and gave them a brief rundown of the Lower City Tarisians residing in this dark and loud and populated society: the Rodians, Duros, Bothans, Sullustans, Trandoshans, Gand, Twi'lek, Quarren, Bith, Ithorians, Gamorreans, Drovians, Humans, and so many more that made Heero's head spin. There were an extraordinary amount of sentient beings that crowded the world.

His thoughts were interrupted when Wufei walked out the clinic. He stopped beside him, eyes listlessly wandering the crowd along the streets, watching speeders and throngs of aliens and humans stream through.

"Any luck?" Heero spoke first.

Wufei snorted. "Luck? You know as well as I do that luck here, in the slums, is transient. But I did come away with something." Wufei turned to him, his eyes darker. He crossed his arms. "You're not going to like it."

Heero's full attention turned to Wufei. Wufei sighed. Excitement was the furthest thing from his face. Wufei looked more annoyed and wary. "Kaz, Zelka's assistant, was kidnapped by the Black Vulkars, according to the damaged protocol droid. I had to repair some functioning problems for it to operate. The Vulkars did a number on its vocabulator. I was able to gleam what I could. The Black Vulkars had stormed into the clinic to kill any wounded Hidden Bek members. Blaster bolts riddled the floor and walls. The cowards! They raided the clinic! They took their injured and grabbed Kaz in their haste. The droid had tried contacting Zelka after the immediate situation, but fell into disrepair. It wouldn't have mattered anyway – the conduits to the communication servers were severed."

"So Kaz's held hostage to act as a doctor to heal the injured Black Vulkars?" Heero speculated. "I would think they'd already have their own medical assistance."

"It goes to show the Vulkars could demand and take what they want. They did it as retribution, for aiding any opponent of the Black Vulkars, disregarding protocol for clinics as neutral zones," Wufei said.

"The only option is infiltrating the Black Vulkar base, then," Heero concluded. They had to find some way into the Vulkar Base. From their little tryst around the Lower City, the Vulkar Base doors were sealed, guarded, and only recruited members were known to enter. A full frontal assault would be suicide but they had to find some way into base. There had to be a hidden passage. Heero suspected it may lie in the Under City, but the Under City gates were tightly guarded by the Sith. Automated turret defenses followed any sign of motion or threat.

Annoying obstacles kept blockading their routes.

Heero nodded. "Let's go."

As the two merged into the crowd, Heero felt a hand insert into his jacket pocket, grabbing all that it could in one scoop. As the hand pulled away, Heero immediately clamped on it, seizing the wrist like a black viper about to crush its prey. The thief turned around, revealing his large black abyss-like eyes, his scaly green skin, and wide mouth. A Rodian thief! He tried to visibly shake away Heero's grip, only to be surprised by how strong it was wrapped around his wrist. The Rodian's antennae twitched in panic, and he tried to make a break for it, only to be reeled back to the Gundam pilot, who's now glacial eyes held a murderous intent.

The Rodian grunted a few more times, until he finally shouted, forcefully, in his language. His voice was soft, but it seemed to hold a malicious undertone, as he patted his holsters and referred to a black armband, confidently – or as confident as one could with the strain of having an arm on the cusp of breaking in two.

Another person entered the fray, laughing a little. This man looked near-human, his skin had a pinkish tinge, and small horns protruded from his bald head. "You might want to let my pateesa, my friend, go if you know what's good for ya, humans."

"Surrender," Wufei said, his arms at his sides, but his knees slightly bent, his dark eyes boring into the pink alien. "It's the only option you have for weaklings like yourself."

"Surrender?" the alien chuckled roughly, brushing off Wufei's request. He leered at them. "Stoopas!"

He patted a black armband on his right arm. "Ya stuka this?" he referred. "Jee-jee izz Black Vulkars. Jee-jee own this part of the Lower City, so if ya don't want any trouble, and jee suggest ya don't, ya let my patessa go, and we'll leave you alone, instead of dead bodies. Oh yeah" - his eyes brightened maliciously, moving his hand out – "Give us all yar moulee-rah while yar at it as payment. It's only fair in exchange for yar lives. Ya don't want trouble with us, Black Vulkars."

The man sounded confident, like he had done this one too many times and, unlawfully, got away with it. Heero, in return, tightened his grip and the Rodian fell to his knees, wailing in pain. Heero could feel the bones in his arms, and a little more pressure would render the arm useless. All he needed was to squeeze a bit more.

"Nobata!" cried the Rodian, panting, his face frightened. He looked around helplessly.

"You were saying," Heero said, seeing the other alien flinch at his tone. There was nothing in his voice but the promise of death. He foresaw it if it came to the inevitable. He was never one to hold anything back, especially if they threatened his life.

The male alien quickly pulled out his blaster but Wufei was faster. Wufei's left hand parried the alien's wrist, causing his hand to fly upwards. The blaster bolt rang in the street as the bolt took to the sky. With his right hand, Wufei threw a quick thrust punch into the alien's solar plexuses, and the horned-alien fell to the ground unconscious, his blaster smattering to the floor. A loitering crowd quickly scampered away. They knew involvement in any violent matter could end in innocents' deaths through collateral damage. No one wanted to be the next murder victim.

"Now, I suggest you leave and take your friend with you." Wufei glared at the Rodian thief. The Rodian scrambled away, leaving his cohort out unconscious on the ground.

"Not too bad of a job," an impressed voice announced.

It was the man, the muscle that had been harassing that Rodian from the alleyway. He was a heavy man, massive muscles flexing from under his black shirt and brown vest; his arms were as large as Heero's head, his hair a military grade cut and graying. A large scar marred his scowling visage and seemed to render him unapproachable. His physical immensity made both boys, compared to his muscularity, look like brittle sticks. He wore beige pants with knee-length, worn and scuffed metal boots that gleamed in the dank light. A black tattoo emblazoned his left deltoid. His hands cradled a large prototype heavy repeater, a massive blaster longer than his arms. The man was a fighter, Heero observed subtly, by the way he spoke and his posture, at peak fitness, ready for the unpredictable. He looked unafraid, his gray eyes holding a calculating gleam as if deciphering an interesting code.

"It would have been better to completely crush their hope," the man derided, his tone condescending. He chucked a wad of spit on the ground to emphasize his point. "Hmph. But they don't learn do they, those spineless Black Vulkars, acting tough when their nothing but slugs with blasters. You could've done more, but I agree with you. Sometimes those cowards aren't worth the time.

"Now, I'm usually not impressed too often but what I've seen with my own eyes, just now, has got me thinking. Cowardice and deceit and strength make perfect beds in this city. Only the strong survive as to not get eaten alive by the numerous weak who seek to become the strong. You two are strong. It's unbearably obvious after that little showing.

You might try to hide it but I know soldiers when I see them. Or mercenaries. You two got the look of veterans, men who have touched war. You can't deny it; I see it in your eyes. War has molded you. Not everyone has it, and some want to forget it."

The man narrowed his gray eyes. "Strange, you would've been too young for the Mandolorian Wars, and deserters, especially from this war, have got that stench of cowardice on them. I sense none of that. Or maybe I'm wrong but I know what I see."

He gave them a hard stare, appraising them with his cold gray eyes. He then smirked. "Say, I got an offer for you. My name is Canderous Ordo, Davik's right hand man, and we're recruiting an unspecified number for a job in the Under City. Davik's done much of the selecting, but I want you two for insurance. Come to Javyar's Cantina, to the lounge, if you're interested. I'll be waiting."

He disappeared into the thick of the crowd, swallowed by the mass of moving bodies.

"Should we take it? This sounds too good to be true," Wufei remarked, his eyes on the crowd, looking unimpressed.

"Even so, this opens up new opportunities we can't ignore."

* * *

The two arrived at the cantina and made it past the anxious bouncer. The Rodian bouncer gestured to his holster, and shook his head. He then spoke a few short words. His eyes drilled into them. Heero interpreted the Rodian's threat as a warning for no fighting. Heero inclined his head in the affirmative.

The Gundam pilots soon found themselves in a small dark lounge, surrounded by intermittent, incandescent, flashing lights of yellow, green, and red, greeted by scantily clad Twi'lek dancers on a dais, erotically gyrating their hips and slender bodies to the thumping of a jazz-esque music, a haze of smoke that polluted the room, lingering, as it to suffocate their lungs and burn their eyes, and the gathered patrons, the miscreants and odd folks and aliens, who hid in flickering shadows, their drinks in hand, impassive and indolent expressions among most of the lot, lounged in their seats.

They found Canderous leaning against the wall in the back, surrounded by about fifteen people either standing or sitting in seats watching him. He was staring intently at one of the female dancers, her sways of her voluptuous hips gyrating in hypnotic and enticing motions, her yellow skin glowing in the lights, her dark eyes on his, returning his scowl with a demure smile, a hidden invitation. She knew he was a big a spender, considering his employer. It was a private conversation in a language born of lust and carnal desire. One needed not to look too far, if one was ready, to fulfill such desire. However, in a city filled with instant gratification, which rarely rewards in the long run, such desire was always available. He gave her a lascivious smile, and then turned his steely eyes onto the Gundam pilots. From his inclined eyebrow, he knew exactly when they entered the lounge.

"I knew you would come. We were all getting a little too antsy," he said, bringing the attention of his colleagues.

They appraised the two Gundam pilots in incredulity, arrogance, and interest. Two human males sitting closer to Canderous scoffed and laughed at them. A curious male Twi'lek watched them, idly fingering his holster. Indifferently, the pilots placed themselves to the back of the group amid the stares. The group, after a moment of sizing the newcomers, returned their eyes to Canderous.

"Good. I see those that answered my invitation are here. Wise. Davik doesn't like refusal." He peered at them with critical eyes, watching and analyzing them. His gray eyes could cut steel, and he seemed to be doing that to his audience – cutting them to pieces with his eyes. Canderous had to make sure they were the right sort, the sort who could endure a dangerous situation. By his sweeping look, he did not like what he saw. With the crowd before him, he left the wall, moving a few steps to the front.

"I'll get straight to the point. Davik wants to venture into the Under City to recover anything – people, weapons, items – from the Republic escape pods."

This statement drew a murmur of disbelief and interest in the crowd. Many looked taken aback, seeing if he was joking. His scowl stated he wasn't.

"Be warned – there are dangers everywhere, especially Rakghouls. We also aren't the only ones. The Sith and Vulkars scum are scouring the Under City as we speak. Invitation to a battle for the spoils is welcome, might be inevitable. Expect heavy resistance. I would rather have trained men as an escort than you lot, but were short on time and patience, and my opinion doesn't matter too much these days." He snorted. This gave a way to a clamor of laughs and snorts.

"Don't you worry about Davik, I can take care of myself," one said from his seat, tilting his hat.

An encore of Yes swept in, and Canderous smiled, but if one looked closely he wasn't smiling or signing away his approval. It was a cold smile, a condescending one that scoffed at the people inside. "Well. I see we have few people ready. Good. Expect the worse."

"How 'bout pay? I don't want Davik to jiff on what he owes," a human male said.

Canderous chuckled. "Davik will be sure to reward you for your _efforts_.

"I'll remind you all – stay together, and if you get separated, oh well, we'll leave you and have you find your own way back, if you do survive. We'll be scavenging for two pods that landed in the northern and eastern part of the Under City. There'll be some gang activity there. But the real test, between beast and warrior, are the Rakghouls. If you are bitten or infected, I'm putting a blaster bolt through your head. That's my mercy. Don't get infected."

The room dropped completely into a stony silence. Looks of horror betrayed most of the audience's hardened exteriors. They shifted awkwardly the silence seizing some in fright. Heero knew Canderous would do it. He didn't seem like the sort to make excuses for his behavior. Like a silent predator, he seized on their apprehensiveness, smiling with his steely eyes. "Well, let's go hunting."

* * *

"See, what did I tell ya, Flyboy? Worked like a charm," Ina said, disrobing her Sith armor. The silver armor clattered to the floor of the Lower City ground. She holstered her blaster and re-sheathed her vibroblade on her back. The two Republic fugitives were hidden in an undisclosed alleyway, where a mountain of garbage and refuse shielded them from suspicious eyes.

"I hate to say it – I really do - but I agree. Too bad about your night, though," Carth chuckled, and Ina pouted.

The Sith party had been one grand and intoxicating adventure. The music had been on full blast and all the Tarisian Ale freely available. Ina had met Sarna at the door and together, under the dim lights, talked and drank and danced and kissed until their sudden and sexual urges announced itself through heavy touching, where they escaped to a bedroom. However, after a few minutes, the Tarisian Ale kicked in for Sarna, and she fell asleep in the heat of the moment.

Damn, alcohol. If one wasn't a Tarisian, or veteran alcoholic, then falling under was as easy as drinking water. She left to find all in the living room, except Carth, on the floor in a drunken stupor. Ina and Carth, then, though Ina still excited and agitated, stole their uniforms, tricked the Upper City guard, and now found themselves in the bustling Lower City, in the early morning hours.

"Well, let's head to Javyar's Cantina. You said that spacer from the Upper City Cantina told you they had more information there?" Ina watched from the alleyway through the gaps in the garbage, seeing the bars of early morning sky light illuminate the streets. The Lower City was still how she remembered it; dirty, crowded, and impoverished. From her vantage point she could she the homeless, in their rags, huddled over a shell of an open-headed R-8009 utility droid, using its head as a fire pit to warm their bodies. A few stragglers were out in the morning headed to the Force knows where.

"According to him, it's one of our best bets. He said, most likely, information would be there. It's where the villainy and scum and mercenaries congregate, a hive for the nefarious and ambitious, and the ones eager to make a quick credit through criminality."

Ina pursed her lips. "How pleasant."

Carth merely shrugged and patted down his coat. They climbed up the wall of garbage and jumped down into the city streets. They walked the streets until they found the broken sign of Javyar's Cantina, its neon lights flickered on and off like a light bulb's final moments, and the Rodian bouncer, hand on his holster, staring them down with fathomless dark eyes, hovered near the door, slightly wary, slightly anxious, and all the more silent and hostile. The two entered and soon found themselves caught at the ingress of the main lounge and bar, in an ugly situation that was sure to be deadly.

A short man with the skin the color of mocha in the dank yellow lighting, wearing a white cap, a blue jacket and black armor and impenetrably black goggles, sat nursing a drink in one hand, and staring at a datapad in the other. He sat behind another human male who was conversing with a yellow, female Twi'lek. The unperturbed man was beset by two aliens, a Rodian in an orange jumpsuit and a Twi'lek, looking down on him in contempt, smug smiles spread on their green faces. The two aliens taunted the man, laughing, and the patrons, who had turned their attention away from their drinks and entertainment, found new entertainment at the unfolding scene. They watched in the silence of the rhythmic, fast-tempo music blaring around them, seemingly heightening the tension.

"Big, bad, Calo Nord, the famous bounty hunter," the Rodian chuckled, grinning. "What a surprise."

"He doesn't look so tough, looks more like a runt, a little ant," a Twi'lek said, his thin lips smirking. He appraised Calo's appearance in a glance, finding nothing imposing or threatening as he took a step forward. Calo continued to read his datapad, as if their presence were invisible, hardly any concern for trouble, which the two thugs were seeking.

"Go away," the man responded, his voice a deep baritone that made his small stature larger. His voice commanded attention. However, his tone had taken on disinterest.

"We only came to say Hi to big bad man, huh tough guy?" the Rodain taunted.

Calo continued to read, however, when he spoke, it was clear and foreboding. "One."

The Twi'lek laughed. "One? One what? There are two of us and one of you." He withdrew his blaster and pointed at the Calo's face threateningly. "Whatcha gotta say now, little runt?"

Calo put his datapad inside a pocket in his blue jacket and placed his drink on his table. "Two."

"Counting? Counting what? How long it'll take to squash you," said the Rodian, laughing, "Do you see this black arm band?" He pointed to his shoulder. "Did you get a close look, runt. We're Black Vulkars, and we own this turf! You and everyone else need to get in line and –"

"Three."

In a flash of speed, Calo launched a grenade at them. The room was flooded in bright white light. Ina couldn't see a thing, and her eyes burned from the light's blinding exposure. She hurriedly closed her eyes and dropped to her knees to avoid any stray shots. Flash grenades were the worst. The weapon not only blinded the targeted but disorientated them through a loud ringing noise.

Three blaster shots rang in the air. Three screams of mortal terror echoed around her, and two bodies dropped to the floor. After moment, Ina opened her eyes, finding the room a bit blurry, but she could discern the two shapes on the ground. They were the two Black Vulkars, in all their failure and pride, dead.

Another scream tore in the room, and Ina looked to her left to find the human male behind Calo, hunched over on the table, glasses spilled, his head smoking, and the Twi'lek's terrible face of pain and terror. Ina grimaced. One of the stray shots missed Calo and hit the unaware bystander.

She turned her attention to Calo, who seemed unfazed by the bodies and the terrible silence that was awkwardly filling the room while the upbeat, pulsating music continued as if nothing had happened. He quickly turned on his heels and headed towards them. Ina felt her belly tighten as Calo, for some reason, stopped. Calo came to her shoulder but his presence was magnified by his ruthlessness and legend. She couldn't see anything behind his black goggles.

"Move."

Coming out of her stupor, Ina realized, in surprise, she was blocking the entry into the lounge and bar. She stepped aside.

"Good." Calo slightly turned his head to her, and then stared. His frowned lips seemed to thin. A beat passed but, to Ina, it felt like an hour. The man didn't move, only his long jacket billowed. He stared as if seeing through her. His gaze was heavy and searching. She was about to enquire about his staring when he swiftly turned his head and, again, paused, his black goggles penetrating Carth. Calo then faced the entrance, but didn't move. A small smirk, uncharacteristic of what Ina had heard of the man, a man who prided on stoicism, rested on his lips. The world turned upside down.

"I saw your matches in the dueling ring. Not too bad. You wasted too much time dodging Twitch's blaster bolts but you made up for it with surprise, some say a suicidal move, something he did not expect. Nice work."

Calo Nord departed the room. The people in the cantina breathed a collective sigh.

Ina furrowed her brow. "What in world was that?"

Carth shrugged, looking as bewildered as she felt. "I think that was him flirting. Have you met him before?

Carth then smiled at her. "You are beautiful."

Ina shook her head. "Carth, stop. That's disturbing."

"What? The beautiful part?"

"No. For you suggesting that the Calo Nord was flirting with me. Calo Nord and flirting are outrageously incompatible. They don't fit together like the head of a Rodian on a Twi'lek's body. And yes, I am beautiful. But I'd rather forget about Calo Nord flirting with me.

"If legend is true about him, then we should stay far away from him," Ina warned.

"Legend?" Carth inquired.

She leaned closer to Carth and whispered, "Word has got around that they he's killed more than Iridian plague. From his little display of power and his, um, efficiency, that's not hard to believe. I heard sinister tales from my Outer Rim days of him. The man is definitely bad news."

Carth frowned but didn't say anything more. The two set out to gather information. They explored the bar, finding its inhabitants drinking away, conversing in soft tones, or, merely, scanning the crowd for any sign of threats. Tension, as usual, for any seedy cantina, still swarmed the air.

"Don't wanna mess with him, eh Big Z," replied a blue Twi'lek woman. "That man ain't right. Gonna get on his bad side and he's gonna shoot you dead. I still can't believe those blaster-happy Vulkars tried to pick a fight with one of the best bounty hunters in the galaxy. I mean, I can believe it, but to actually do it in person, man, Big Z, those Vulkars are getting dumber and more violent by the day. "

The Twi'lek had a young face, about eighteen, and wore a black tank top with her midriff showing over a gray vest and shorts that revealed her dangling long blue legs from her seat. Her lekku, headtails, were bound in a black and red head band where strands wrapped halfway down her lekku. She had an amused smirk on her lips, her eyes were very playful, and Ina had feeling that she would like her.

Next to her was a large, hairy creature, covered in shaggy brown fur, lounging against the bar, which, compared to him, made everyone infinitely small to his height and width. He towered over everyone, even the Quarren bartender. The alien had a large, black snout and sharp teeth. It wore a red, bare fabric, vest. Attached to his back, from a black strap, was a bowcaster. The alien was a Wookie, and he seemed far from his home world of Kayshyyk. It was certainly a strange scene in front of Ina, a Twi'lek befriending a Wookie.

The Wookie growled and then whined in guttural sounds. Ina chuckled, understanding the Wookie's language, Shyriiwook. Calo had disrupted his quiet drinking time.

"Come on, Big Z, you had enough to drink, let's go exploring while the day is still young! We can probably do some cheap jobs and get a quick a credit while we're at it. I'm pretty sure Gadon must have something for us to do, ya know, like moving parts or hacking some systems for the big swoop race. Maybe get on the search in the Under City."

The Wookie whined again, turning to his plate of unfinished food. "You can eat that later, you're not gonna starve after that hacking we did for those goons down by the residential area."

The Wookie shook his head. "Don't be like that Big Z."

"You've guys been into the Under City?" Ina asked, finding her chance, she walked towards them, with Carth behind her. The Twi'lek's amused smile never left her face. "Depends."

Ina knew her game. "How much do you want?"

"How much you offerin', lady, my work ain't free – even for information," she said, crossing her arms. "And knowing you," – she scanned both of them – "Ya don't know a thing about Taris, offworlders."

Ina cocked her head to the side. "How did you know?"

The Twi'lek continued to smirk. "Never seen you two in my life, and I pretty much know and met everyone here. Well, at least once. Mostly. And ya got that spacer vibe, ya know, the one where ya stick out. Yet," – the woman turned to Ina, pointing – "Ya stick out more like an overweight Gamorrean at an Upper City Tarisian ball. And they already stick out more than enough as it is."

Ina blinked. "What?"

"Is that so," Carth spoke, lifting a brow. He seemed unmoved by her observation. "Miss…"

"Mission Vao, at your service," Mission introduced. "I don't know who ya are old man, but I certainly know her, Miss Taris-Dueling-Champion or the Mysterious Stranger," the Twi'lek said in a sing-song voice.

"Everybody and their momma were bettin' on that competition like they do on Swoop racing. Many here are big Twitch fans; he's the local favorite. He came outta the slums and won every match. Beat Marl, too! It was wizard! But ya surprised us. Who'd thought you'd beat Twitch!" the Twi'lek chuckled.

Carth gave Ina a hard stare. Ina tried not to recoil back in embarrassment. She guessed dueling wasn't the best way to relieve some stress in a hostile environment. If Calo Nord was a fan of the dueling ring then, inadvertently, she might have brought serious attention to herself.

"Anyways," Ina changed the conversation or less Carth's eyes would eventually blast her into oblivion, "How about fifty credits for info?'

Ina handed a fifty credit chip. The Twi'lek smiled at the lucre, and deposited it into her belt. "What do ya wanna to know?"

"We're trying to get into the Under City; you know any way down there?"

"Of course! I know Taris like I know the back hand. We – me and Big Z or Zaalbar, here – have explored every nook and cranny of this city. Yep. Nothing too far from our reach. Ya couldn't have asked anyone better than us."

"Well, my partner and I need to get down there."

"Follow me and we'll show ya how." Mission rose from her seat. Big Z grumbled and lamented over the loss of his meal but he followed. They left the Javyar's into the crowded Lower City streets.


End file.
